Southern
Illustrated News [Richmond, VA]
September 13, 1862 – March 25, 1865
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, September 13, 1862, p. 8, c. 3
Manufacturer Tobacco Agency.
Samuel Ayres & Son, Agents for the Sale of Virginia and North Carolina Manufactured Tobacco, corner Cary and Virginia Streets, Richmond, Va.
Hyco Smoking Tobacco.
Manufactured and Sold by
Samuel Ayres & Son,
Richmond, Va.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, September 13, 1862, p. 8, c. 4
The Great
Prophetic Book.
The Partizan Leader.
West & Johnston,
Publishers, Richmond.
[reviews by Richmond Dispatch, Southern Literary Messenger,
Christian Observer]
Recently
Published:
The First Year of the War.
By Edward A. Pollard.
[reviews by Mobile Advertiser and Register, Atlanta (Ga.) Intelligencer, Atlanta (Ga.) Southern Confederacy, Charleston Mercury, Richmond Enquirer, Richmond Dispatch, Richmond Examiner, Richmond Whig, Richmond Christian Observer]
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 11, 1862, p. 8, c. 3
Pantechnoptomon!
Lee Mallory's
War Illustrations
Exhibiting the Soldier's Life in
Camp
March,
Bivouac,
Battle.
The most elaborate exhibition of mechanism and art ever
produced in any country, now on exhibition in the Southern Cities.
Note
to Artists.—Wanted, Sketches of Scenes and Incidents connected with our army,
such as Views of Camps, Battle-Fields, Maps, &c. Any drawings that will be interesting to the public, will be
promptly acknowledged and paid for. Address
Lee Mallory,
At High Constable's Office,
Richmond, Va.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 11, 1862, p. 8, c. 3
Essence of Coffee! Essence of Coffee!!
Every family should buy it.
One package equal to five pounds of Coffee. A very minute quantity mixed with toasted Rye or Wheat,
imparts a rich Coffee flavor. For
sale, wholesale and retail, at
Meade & Baker's Drug Store,
186 Main Street, corner above Post Office.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 11, 1862, p. 8, c. 3
To the Ladies.—Small Stencils for marking clothing made to order.
Indelible Ink and Brush furnished. Every
family should have one. Price
$2—sent by mail on receipt of $2.25.
H. H. Kayton, Letter Cutter,
13th Street, between Main and Cary,
Richmond, Va.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 11, 1862, p. 8, c. 3
Brass Letters, Cross Sabres, Cross Cannons, &c., for sale, wholesale and
retail. Address by mail or
otherwise.
H. H. Kayton, Letter Cutter,
13th street, between Main and Cary,
Richmond, Va.
Small
Stencils, for marking clothing with indelible ink, made to order.
H. H. K.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 11, 1862, p. 8, c. 3
Brands for branding Tobacco Boxes, Flour Barrels, Grain Bags, Hogsheads,
Liquors, &c., made to order. Address by mail or otherwise.
E. M. Lewis, Brand Cutter,
13th street, between Main and Cary,
Richmond Va.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 18, 1862, p. 3, c. 3
Written for the
Illustrated News.
"Foot-Cavalry Chronicle."
By Hard Cracker.
(1.) Man that is born of
woman and enlisteth in "Jackson's army" is of few days and short
rations.
(2.)
He cometh forth at "reveille," is present also at
"retreat," and retireth apparently at "taps."
(3.)
He draweth his rations from the commissary and devoureth the same; he
striketh his teeth against much hard bread, and is satisfied; he filleth
his canteen with "aqua pura," and clappeth the mouth thereof upon the
"bung" of a whiskey barrel, and after a little while goeth away
rejoicing at his strategy.
(4.)
Much soldiering hath made him sharp; yea, even the sole of his shoe is in
danger of being cut through.
(5.)
He covenanteth with the credulous farmer for many chickens, and much milk
and honey, to be paid for promptly at the end of each six days, when lo!
on the 5th day the army moveth to another part.
(6.)
His tent is filled with potatoes, pies, corn and other morsels for his
delicate appetite, which abound not in said commissary department; and many
other borrowed things, which will never be returned.
Of a surety, it must be said of "Jackson's foot cavalry,"
"they take not that which they cannot reach."
(7.)
He fireth his Minie rifle at the dead hour of night, and the camp is
roused and formed in line—when, to his mess he cometh bearing a fine
"porker"—which he declareth so resembleth a Yankee that he was
compelled to pull trigger.
(8.)
He giveth the "provost" much trouble; often capturing his guard
and possessing himself of the city.
(9.)
At such times "lager and pretzels" flow like milk and honey
from his generous hand. He giveth, without stint, to his own stomach.
(10.)
The grunt of a pig and the crowing of a cock awakeneth him from the soundest
sleep, and he sauntereth forth in search or the quadruped or biped that dareth
to "make night hideous."
(11.)
No sooner hath he passed the sentry's beat than he striketh a
"bee-line" for the nearest hen roost, and seizing a pair of pullets,
returneth soliloquizing to himself, "the noise of a goose saved Rome, how
much more the flesh of the chicken preserveth the soldier."
(12.)
He playeth "eucre" with the parson, whether there shall be
preaching in camp on the Sabbath, and by dexterously turning jack from the
bottom of the pack, postponeth the service.
(13.)
And many other marvelous things doeth he; and, lo!
are they not already recorded in the morning reports of "Jackson's
foot cavalry?"
Camp
of the "Turned-Over and Used-Ups," Sept. 27, 1862.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 18, 1862, p. 5, c. 2-3 [sketch]
Miss Belle Boyd,
"The Rebel Spy."
This young lady, who has, by her devotion to the Southern cause, called
down upon her head the anathemas of the entire Yankee press, was in our city
last week. Through the politeness
of Mr. Cowel, the artist at Minnis' gallery, we are enabled, in this issue of
our paper, to present her picture.
Miss
Belle is the daughter of Benjamin B. Boyd of Martinsburg, at which place he was
for a long time prominently engaged in the mercantile profession.
He afterwards removed to Knoxville, Tennessee, where he lived about three
years, but returned to Martinsburg about two years previous to the breaking out
of the present war. Her mother was
the daughter of Captain Glenn of Jefferson county.
Miss Belle is the oldest child of her parents, and is about 23 years of
age. An uncle of Miss Belle, James
W. Glenn, of Jefferson county, commanded a company during the present war, known
as the "Virginia Rangers," until recently, the captaincy of which he
resigned on account of ill-health. James
E. Stuart, a prominent politician of the Valley, and who was a member of the
Virginia Convention of 1850, married a sister of Miss Belle's mother.
During
her early years Miss Belle was distinguished for her sprightliness and the
vivacity of her temper.
That
our readers may have an opportunity of seeing what the Yankee correspondents say
about this young lady, we extract the following article from the columns of the
Philadelphia "Inquirer," which was written by the army correspondent
of that sheet:
"These
women are the most accomplished in Southern circles. They are introduced under assumed names to our officers, so
as to avoid detection or recognition from those to whom their names are known,
but their persons unknown. By such
means they are enabled to frequently meet combinedly, but at separate times, the
officers of every regiment in a whole column, and by simple compilation and
comparison of notes, they achieve a full knowledge of the strength of our entire
force. Has modern warfare a
parallel to the use of such accomplishments for such a purpose?
The chief of these spies is the celebrated Belle Boyd.
Her acknowledged superiority for machination and intrigue has given her
the leadership and control of the female spies in the valley of Virginia.
She is a resident of Martinsburg, when at home, and has a pious, good old
mother, who regrets as much as any one can the violent and eccentric course of
her daughter since this rebellion has broken out.
Belle has passed the freshness of youth.
She is a sharp-featured black-eyed woman of 25, or care and intrigue have
given her this appearance. Last
summer, whilst Patterson's army lay at Martinsburg, she wore a revolver in her
belt, and was courted and flattered by every Lieutenant and Captain in the
service who ever saw her. There was
a kind of Di Vernon dash about her, a smart pertness, a quickness of retort, and
utter abandonment of manner and bearing which were attractive from their very
romantic unwontedness.
"The
father of this resolute black-eyed vixen is a paymaster in the Southern army,
and formerly held a place at Washington under our Government.
She has undergone all that society, position and education can confer
upon a mind suited to the days of Charles the Second, or Louis the
Fourteenth—a mind such as Mazarin or Richelieu would have delighted to employ
from its kindred affinities.
"Well,
this woman I saw practicing her arts upon our young lieutenants and
inexperienced captains, and in each case I uniformly felt it my duty to call
them aside and warn them of whom she was. To
one she had been introduced as Miss Anderson, to another as Miss Faulkner, and
so to the end of the chapter. She
is so well known now that she can only practice her blandishments upon new raw
levies and their officers. But from
them she obtains the number of their regiments and their force.
She has, however, a trained band of coadjutors, who report to her
daily—girls aged from 16 upward—women who have the common sense not to make
themselves as conspicuous as she, and who remain unknown, save to her, and are
therefore effective. The reports that she is personally impure are as unjust as
they are undeserved. She has a
blind devotion to an idea, and passes far the boundary of her sex's modesty to
promote its success.
"During
the past campaign in the Valley this woman has been of immense service to the
enemy. She will be now if she
can."
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 18, 1862, p. 8, c. 4
Valuable
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Published by
West & Johnston,
145 Main St., Richmond.
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Ordnance Manual, with plates
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Map of Kentucky and Tennessee, colored,
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Address orders to
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SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 1, 1862, p. 8, c. 3
Wanted—A
few more Young Men, of good moral character, to fill up the Corps of Cadets, at
the Virginia Military Institute. applicants
must be between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five years of age.
This is a good chance for young men who wish to avoid the Conscript Act.
For particulars, address
Lieut. Henry A. Wise, Jr.,
V. M. Institute, Lexington, Va.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 8, 1862, p. 3, c. 2
The Home-Spun Dress.
We have received the following spirited letter from our sprightly
correspondent "Louise," which we take the liberty of publishing:
C________, Va.
Messrs.
Editors:--Do give me your sympathies and attention for a brief space, while I
tell you what a mortification I suffered Sunday on account of wearing a home
spun dress—but, first, let me ask you a question: don't you think it would be more patriotic in our girls to
wear home spun dresses, instead of wearing such doleful faces about the
blockade, just because they can't get such lots of fine dresses and other finery
as they used to in times back? I
think so, Messrs. Editors, and I hope you do, too.
Every second lady you meet up here in C_____ has her face elongated to
twice its natural length because, as she says, there's no "dry-goods"
in the stores, "and what are we to do for wearing apparel?"
If I suggest home-spun, O! such a thing is not to be thought of.
Well, Messrs. Editors, I bought me a home-spun dress, had it made up and
wore it to church on Sunday last. When
I took my seat. I looked around and saw a smile, or a sneer, on the lips
of our "would be" aristocratic ladies.
They whispered and nudged each other, and were even rude enough to direct
their glances straight at me. If
they call that good manners, their code and mine slightly differs on the
subject. I am only a little girl,
and I felt like crying, but I managed to listen with tolerable attention to the
sermon. Just as soon as I got home
I sat down to write to you about it, feeling sure of your sympathy.
I just made up my mind that every one of those ladies I saw laughing at
my home spun dress were nothing but "Yankees."
Now would you advise me to wear that dress again, or doff it entirely to
please the over-refined taste of these C______ villains? Do answer me something—I think it would be nice to answer
this question about home-spun dresses in your paper. Suppose you ask "Hard Cracker" what he thinks of
it. Hoping to be excused for
trespassing so long on your time, I remain yours,
Respectfully,
Louise.
Advise
you to wear it again? Why, most
assuredly; and when it is worn out, send us a piece, that we may put it away
with other highly prized mementoes of this war, to remind us in after years that
there was one brave little heart somewhere in the Old Dominion, that pulsated
with genuine patriotism, and with whom "duty" was a
higher word than "fashion."
Don't mind the whispers and sniggers of those who, while they
profess great patriotism, had rather give aid and comfort to the enemy by the
purchase of his silks and satins, with which to please the stay-at-home sneaks,
than to encourage home industry and win the admiration of all earnest and
sensible men. Many a soldier, as he
reads your letter today in camp, will say, "Well, boys, I'll bet a month's
rations that little girl will make some lucky fellow a good wife, and no
mistake!" What says our
particular friend, "Hard-Cracker?"—Eds.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 22, 1862, p. 5, c. 3 (continued over several pages and three issues—a fictional story set during the war in the mountains of Virginia)
A Summer Idyl.
By Refugitta.
. . .The sick soldier made a refreshing call on the whiskey
side of his captured canteen. . . .
. . . "Wait a moment, is there no one here to meet me?" the young lady
answered, looking about under her barege veil with a puzzled air. . . ."I
might as well be any of those Yankee women's rights creatures, stalking about
the country by myself; it is shameful!" . . .
. . .The old white horse was moving along at a fair trot now, and the young lady
concluding to look away from the painted broom-handle on which her eyes had been
fixed, with mournful deliberation, threw back her veil. . . .
. . . It was the state-room, of course, none other in Virginia can boast of
doors kept closed for a moment. Besides, there was the white-washed hearth, filled with
asparagus branches and hollyhocks, the ostrich egg, and shells on the
mantle-piece, under Mrs. Wilkins' first daughter's first sampler, the
"Fisher Girl and Boy" in plaster of Paris, the white dimity curtains,
the staring ambrotype of Josh, executed on the occasion of his sole visit to the
great metropolis of Richmond, the bunch of peacock's feathers in the corner, the
hair-cloth sofa, from which Bel's toes barely reached the floor, the centre-table,
with its green worsted cover and
Family Bible, and the high looking glass between the windows, so carefully
veiled in yellow tarlatan that it was impossible to see more than the mere
outline of one's form—all this, stiff, spotless and inviolate, testified to
the solemn character of the apartment. But
Bel was a lawless little creature, and running to the window, she let in a gleam
of sunlight, dragged five or six chairs out of their stated limits, fingered at
the curtain-folds, and mentally arranged a corner for her guitar and music-rack,
all before the old lady had said a reassuring word to Josh and returned to the
door-way. . . .And, talking all the way, she pattered up the homely staircase,
past the high ticking clock, with its gaudy rising run [sic?] over the landing,
every board of which gleamed like white satin, into a chamber, were Bel's
mercurial spirit congratulated itself on the fate which had directed her steps
into this atmosphere of delicious rurality.
It was not the least bit of a bower—that was a slight disappointment.
(Bel had famous ideas of her own of country life, derived from novels,
and fully expected to a 'nook' draped with 'snowy muslins.')
But an immense airy room with four windows, their curtains of the
never-failing dimity, white as the driven snow, and emitting fragrant breezes of
dried rose-leaves and lavender, a huge, immaculate bed, heavy with its
Marseilles counterpane and ruffled pillow-cases and valence, a queer, high
bureau, surmounted with a receding mirror—('Gracious!' thought Bel, the first
thing, 'it is sea-green, and I look hideous!')—drawers, in any one of which
she might have enacted the part of Ginevia or Col. Zarvona to perfection, a
patch-work pin-cushion, and mat containing a shining brass candlestick, great
gloomy wardrobes, and closet doors innumerable.
That was what it looked like, and Bell, after a war-dance in the middle
of the floor, threw down her book and traveling-bag, leaned half her body out to
pluck a bunch of greville roses, which, like Coleridge's, "peeped at the
chamber window," opened all her wardrobe and closet-doors, and astounded
the old lady with the friendliest of kisses, all in the first sixty seconds. . .
..."What
a bother it is to have so much hair!—There, now, I am finished.
I will get out a white apron, and then shall be the model of a country
lass. How I wish I could get back
some colors! Nonsense!—as if
there were anything up here to captivate, except Josh, indeed!" . . .
. .
.The room was easily found, and with a tiny wood fire nestling up to the mammoth
back log, that seemed, from year's end to year's end, never to burn down in the
deep-mouthed fire-place, presented a cheery picture of deft housekeeping.
On the square oaken table, with its clear brown cloth, her plate was
laid, and presently the old woman bustled in, followed by a servant with a tray
on which was spread enough of different varieties of cakes, bread and breakfast
delicacies, to have feasted a regiment, much less an ethereal young lady. . .
. . .
Then she sent out the whole corps of imps for aprons full of roses, which she
grouped in perfumed clusters, on every available space, and, adorning herself to
correspond, trailed the muslin skirts, for which she had exchanged her already
dilapidated calico, up and down the base polished boards, with as much
satisfaction as she had ever known in the palmiest days of tarlatane and
Lancers. At dinner, too, after
turning up her nose at the antiquated hour of half-past twelve, with what
decided appetite she sat down to green peas and tender little chickens, and how
she evoked Mrs. Wilkins' eternal gratitude by the cordial encomiums lavished
upon everything that met together on the cheerful board. . .
. . .
Quite late at night again, in flannel gown and minus her front teeth and
spectacles, the old lady strayed in holding a candle up on high. Bel was sitting in the window-seat, a cool breeze playing
over her neck and arms, half covered only by the light muslin of her wrapper and
a long vagrant branch of honeysuckle dropping over one shoulder to the waist,
and as the light fell over her face it revealed the most wondrous mingling of
resentment and mischief that once could picture. . . .
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 22, 1862, p. 8, c. 2-3
Summary: Cartoon of two "verdant" country boys commenting on a
young lady wearing a hat with lots of feathers
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 22, 1862, p. 8, c. 3
Box Wood Wanted.—Persons having Box Wood, or old Box Wood Cuts which can be
used on the reverse side, can dispose of the same advantageously by addressing
the Proprietors of this paper.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 22, 1862, p. 8, c. 3
Mrs. A. M. Fraser, of Read's Georgia Battery, will drop a few lines to the
address of E. C. Bee, Richmond, Virginia, and oblige an anxious friend.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 29, 1862, p. 5, c. 1-2
Mrs. Poynter's
Reflections.
No. III.
"Well, now," said Mrs. Poynter, pausing as she passed up Broad
street, and peering in at the glass doors of the "Ladies' Treasury
Department,"—"Well, now, that is a sight that it does my heart good
to see. More than fifty ladies,
young and old, all writing away at desks—as busy, and I dare say, quite as
useful as clerks; and no doubt feeling in their hearts the pleasant
consciousness that they're earning their own independence.
Well, well—these are times when women must learn to take care of
themselves, instead of hanging helplessly upon husbands, sons and brothers.
It's an old saying that it's an ill wind that blows nobody good; and I've
always said that if the times are hard in some respects, they're the means of
developing a great deal of good that might otherwise never have been.
One of the good effects of this war is, that it has brought out woman's
character and capabilities in a newer and better light, and shown her more as
nature intended than as artificial society and education would make her.
Why, what were these girls fit for a year or two ago?
and what were their employments then?
Dressing, dancing, flirting, and strumming on the piano, until one was
fairly sick of the sound. And so
their precious lives were to be passed, until their great aim, getting
married, was either accomplished, or past hoping for.
And in the latter case, ten to one but the rest of their existence was to
be a struggle for a competence, whose only means was the slavery of teaching or
sewing. Well, thank goodness, we've
proven ourselves fit for something besides that—though if it were not for the
necessity of the thing, these conceited lords of creation would never have
condescended to acknowledge it. Now,
look at those bright looking girls, and steady elderly ladies.
Will anybody deny that they're quite as competent for this Treasury
business as the stupid boys and men who used to sneer at the idea of women being
fit for anything but sewing and keeping house?
"And
then just go through our hospitals. There
we see fair and delicate women—women who a year ago would have almost fainted
at the sight of a cut finger, standing by the bedsides of sick and wounded
soldiers, looking on and assisting without a shudder, at the dressing of ghastly
wounds. They've forgotten the
nerves of which they used to complain. Here she is what she ought ever to be—a ministering angel
to the suffering—comforting with kind attentions; soothing with tender
words—the one as grateful as the other to the sick and lonesome hearts of our
poor soldiers—strangers in a strange place, and yearning feverishly for the
tender eyes and words of absent wives, mothers and sisters, whom perhaps they
will never again behold on earth.
"We
hear a great deal about woman's proper sphere, and woman's mission," said
Mrs. Poynter, reflectively; "and it seems to me, so long as girls are
educated as they have been—to an artificial tone of society—she'll never
have a chance of occupying the one, or accomplishing the other.
It's not woman's mission to be shut up at home, away from doing any
public good, and taught that such uselessness is refinement.
It's not her mission, as nature intended it, for her to be shrinking from
hospitals, where her services are so needed, and spending her precious time in
useless embroidery, in dressing, and in learning indifferent music, and worse
French. Why' it's as bad as the
seclusion and so-called refinement of the aristocratic Chinese ladies;
and the artificial system to which they are educated, is like the compression of
the feet—crippling nature, and rendering them incapable of walking alone, or
without some support. Well, as I
said, it takes times like these to bring out woman as nature made her—as some
English writer says, 'It is the times that makes the hero;' and I only hope that
the good work thus commenced will not die out with the return of peace, but that
its effects will last in the future, and lend its aid in ennobling our new
Confederacy, when once it is fully and firmly established.
"Yes,"
continued Mrs. Poynter with energy, "let our Southern ladies throw aside
the shackles of the false social teachings which have hitherto bound them down
to one narrow and beaten track; let them feel how contemptible is the pride
which would keep them from the work necessary to secure their own independence,
and how false the 'refinement' which would restrain them from making
themselves of use to their fellow creatures—as, for instance, in tending our
poor suffering soldiers at the hospitals. Such
'refinement,' of which I've heard enough and too much, is, in fact, not only an
evidence of heartlessness, but of an innately vulgar nature.
And more than this—let her for a time throw aside her vanity, and learn
to make those little sacrifices which the times so loudly demand.
Let her do without plumed bonnets, and silk dresses, and velvet cloaks.
When our poor soldiers are marching bare-foot, it looks to me very badly
to see our ladies giving eighty dollars for a bonnet, and one hundred for a silk
dress—indifferent at that, and not a bit more becoming to them than what they
could procure at one-fourth the sum. And
what good does it bring them? No
sensible man admires or approves of such extravagance.
They set it down at once to its real source—vanity and frivolity of
mind. And what's more, it is not
only idle, but wicked, in times like these, when thousands around us are
suffering for the bare necessities of life.
Ah! girls, if you attended to your own interests, not to say to
the promptings of your own better natures, you would all go to work, and
dress in home-spun, which, with a little taste in making, can be as becoming as
any thing—and make yourselves useful in every way possible—and so ennoble
and exalt the character of our Southern women, and render it as deserving of
praise as is the courage and gallantry of our men."
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 29, 1862, p. 8,
c. 2-3
Summary: Also cartoon of soldier writing a note on the top of a box in
front of a tent
The Home-Spun
Dress Again.
Our "Special Correspondent" "Hard Cracker" indites a
Response to the
"Fair Louise."
Camp near Millwood, Nov. 8th, '62.
Fairest Louise!
Excuse my emotion, but your touching appeal has overcome my too, too
sensitive heart, and in the language of a "Western Poet," I am
compelled to exclaim, "Fairest Louise!"
To Louise.
Methinks I see that tiny form
Within
the church's dim recess,
As if for shelter from the storm
That's
leveled at the "home-spun dress."
With timid look she gazes round,
Nor
can her bosom's throb repress,
For in each low and whisp'ring sound
She
hears that horrid "home-spun dress."
Ah! who is
there can brave the sneer
Of
Fashion, and her laws transgress,
And dare at worship to appear,
Garbed
in a simple "home-spun dress?"
There's courage in the seaman's heart,
Who
meets the breakers' mad caress,
But he has not the hundredth part
That
lurked beneath that "home-spun dress."
There's courage in the soldier's eye,
As
foremost in the charge he'll press,
But what grand courage to defy
Dame
Fashion, in a "home-spun dress."
Louise! this
is no time to waste
O'er
laces, silks, or e'en alpacca:
Your "linseys" better suite the taste
Of
those more "stylish" than
Hard
Cracker.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 29, 1862, p. 8, c. 3
Mr. E. C. Bee can find the whereabouts of Mrs. A. M. Frasier by calling at the
office of "The Southern Illustrated News."
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 29, 1862, p. 8, c. 3
In Press.
The Confederate States Almanac and Repository of Useful
Knowledge for year 1863, will be ready December 15th.
Trade supplied on liberal terms. Also,
will be published for the trade, a Cheap Almanac of 25 pages, at very liberal
terms.
H. C. Clarke, Publisher,
Augusta, Georgia.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 29, 1863, p. 8, c. 4
Summary: To be published "The
Regulations for the Army of the Confederate States;" in press "The
Judge Advocate's Vade Mecum," "Infantry Tactics...Compiled, arranged
and adapted to Hardee's drill. By
col. John H. Richardson," "Manual of Instruction for Volunteers and
Militia of the Confederate States. By
Col. Wm. Gilham," "A Hand-Book for the Practice of War...by Gen.
Jomini..." West &
Johnston, Publishers, Booksellers and Stationers, 145 Main Street, Richmond
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 6, 1862, p. 5, c. 1 [left edge caught in binding]
A Lady's Opinion of the Man Who Wouldn't Shave.
Oh! you horrible monster!
You combination of hog bristles and ox marrow!
You quintessence of all that's abominable!
What expression of kindness and mild humanity can be observed in that
face covered with air from the nose down! Not
any. As well might a poor rat look
in the grizzly muzzle of a Scotch terrier for mercy, when about to be caught in
his crushing jaws, as to look for an expression of human kindness and sympathy
in the face of a hirsute man.
Woman
appreciates the value of a smile. It
lightens up the countenance with adorning sweetness, indicates a kind heart,
radiates gladness to the hearts of others, encourages the desponding, soothes
the afflicted, cheers the sorrowing, disarms wrath, and kindles up genial
sympathy and reciprocal regard. But
a smile cannot drop out from the face of a man "bearded and moustached like
the pard." You suppose, from
the agitation of tall grass, that some animal was crawling through it.
So you may infer from the whiskers of hair that a smile was burrowing
along there somewhere out of sight. The
smile of such a man can not be distinguished from the grin of a ribbed-nose
baboon, which had burnt its mouth with a hot chestnut.
The
lips are capable of indicating a variety of passions and emotions.
They can express kindness, good humor, sweetness of disposition, sorrow,
firmness and decision of character, or they can manifest contempt, disdain,
loathing, anger, and threaten like loaded revolvers.
The chief expression of the best traits in Napoleon's nature were in his
mouth and chin, which he could clothe with so much sweet, sinning, mute,
persuasive eloquence as to render his look irresistible.
But when lip and chin are covered with hair, you might as well look for
expression in the [illegible] of a bank swallow in a gully, over [illigible]
with a turf of grass.
The
passions and affections have their [illegible] in the face, firmness in the
upper lip, mirthfulness near the corners of the mouth, and the affections in the
edges of the lips, etc., hence the philosophy and delight of kissing; the more
intense the passion, the more soul-thrilling and enrapturing the kiss.
Behold that lovely woman, with a form shaped by the hand of harmony,
regular features under clustering ringlets, bright eyes beaming with
intelligence, well arranged pearly teeth, a soft and delicate [illegible], a
mouth like Cupid's bow, a neck like ivory, a bosom like alabaster, and the [illegible]lling
undulations of love like snow, her [illegible] like two rose-buds, moist with
morning dew, and her cheeks—
Where the live crimson thro' the native white,
[Illegible]ooting o'er the face diffuses bloom,
[Illegible]d every nameless grace."
Brilliant
in beauty, she is surrounded by an atmosphere of love, as a rose exhales
fragrance. Just think of one of
these hairy-lipped fellows attempting to kiss her—see him pulling up his
"chevaux-de-friese" bristles to reveal his wild, beast-looking [illegible]rnous
slit of a mouth. Bah!
it's abominable—the idea is disgusting—get out—[illegible]
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 6, 1862, p. 7, c. 2
The
proof that liberty is the divine ideal of man is, that she is the divine ideal
of youth, and that she does not fade away from our soul until our heart is
withered and our mind either debased or discouraged. There is not a soul twenty years old that is not republican.
There is not a decayed heart that is not servile.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 6, 1862, p. 7, c. 2
Liberty
is a blessing we have received from God himself; it is what we are born to.
To lay this down at Caesar's feet, which we received not from him, and
for which we were not beholden to him, were an unworthy action and degrading to
our very nature.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 6, 1862, p. 8, c. 1
Our
fair correspondent "Bettie," in Mississippi, is delighted with the
letter of "Louise." She
thinks it right and proper that the ladies "of the Old Dominion should take
the lead in the introduction of home-spun dresses," and states that the
ladies of Mississippi have been wearing them, not from necessity, but from
choice, since early last spring. The
subjoined extract from her letter breathes the true spirit:
"If
we would cease entirely giving encouragement to the horde of speculators that,
like a vampire, is sucking the life blood of our young Confederacy, and are
playing no unimportant part in the work of devastation—turn our backs
resolutely upon their silks and satins, and various other importations, and
determine to look as sweetly as possible in our neatly fitting home-spuns, we
would soon see a change for the better. It
is not such a dreadful affair, after all, to wear a home-spun dress.
All that it requires is a little independence, and Southern ladies have
not heretofore shown themselves deficient in this quality."
Well
said, Miss Bettie. Make up your
home-spuns with taste, and let them be worn with that grace which all daughters
of the South possess, and there is no prettier or more becoming dress.
We are much gratified to see that the letter of our fair correspondent
"Louise" is attracting such attention.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 6, 1862, p. 8, c. 3-4
Yellow Mountain
Nursery,
By John Dollins, Jr.
In offering a new Catalogue of Apple scions to the public,
I feel thankful to my friends and customers for the manner in which they have
sustained me in this enterprise.
Having
devoted my attention almost entirely for ten years to the study and cultivation
of the Apple, I hope, by the experience gained and by a fair and honest system
of dealing, to retain the confidence of those who have heretofore dealt with me,
and secure a share of the trade of those wishing to plant an Apple Orchard.
The following varieties have been selected from near an hundred different
sorts, (collected from all parts of the country,) which I believe can not be
excelled for real worth in the South—ripening from early to late, as they
stand in this catalogue:
White June,
Striped July,
Williams's Early,
Large Early Bough,
Summer Cheese,
Fall
Cheese,
Fall Pippin,
Gloria Mundi,
Yellow Bellfleur,
Rhode
Island Greening,
Winter Queen,
Winter Cheese,
Prior's Red,
Vandevere of N. Y.,
Aesopus Spitzenburgh,
Raul's Jannet,
Herefordshire Pearmain,
Pennock's Red Winter,
Roberts' Red,
Milam,
Mathes Apple,
Domine,
King of Tompkins County,
Lady Apple,
Northern Spy,
F. Abraham,
Albemarle Pippin,
Limber Twigs,
and Pilot.
The
Pilot is a new and native variety, and one to which all other varieties must
yield the palm. The above cut is an
exact outline of one of the fruit. Origin
on the farm of Mr. John Lobban, deceased, Nelson co., Va.
It is supposed by those perfectly acquainted with its history to have
sprung from the seed of a Pippin Apple. This
apple is well tested, and pronounced by all who have seen and eaten of it to be
unrivalled for the desert; and, indeed, some assert that a Pippin Apple can not
be tolerated after having eaten a Pilot. I
assert, myself, that it has no competitor in my acquaintance.
It is the standard of excellence where known.
Description:--Very
large, roundish oval, sometimes a little flattened, and not unfrequently a
little one-sided. Skin smooth, pale
and deep pea green, dotted with numerous distinct gray and greenish specks,
streaked and splashed with deep red, particularly on the sunny side.
Flesh slightly tinged with green and yellow, tender, melting, sweet and
delicious. In use all winter.
Price
for Trees.—For the Pilot, in small quantities, $1 each; all other varieties,
$4 per dozen; $30 per hundred; $250 per thousand.
To nurserymen and those wishing to obtain varieties, I have a large
experimental orchard, and can furnish grafts of Apples and Pears, of almost
every valuable variety known in this country, at 50 cents per dozen; $2 per
hundred; $10 per thousand except the Pilot, which will cost $1 per dozen; $5 per
hundred; $30 per thousand. No extra
charges, except freight, which must be paid by the purchaser.
The name of the person ordering should be plainly written and the depot
or landing to which packages are to be sent.
No attention paid to an order unless accompanied by the cash.
In forwarding remittances, I request my friends to send them by Express,
as I will not be responsible for losses through the mail.
I would rather pay the Express charges myself than subject my customers
to the risk of forwarding through the mail.
The utmost care will be sued in marking and shipping packages.
I will take a receipt in every instance from the Express Agent upon the
delivery of the package, and if delay or loss occurs, the forwarder alone must
be held responsible. Trees and grafts will be labelled and packed in the most
careful manner. Address all orders
to
John Dollins, Jr.
North Garden Depot,
Albemarle co., Va.
N.B.—Please preserve this Catalogue.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 13, 1862, p. 2, c. 3
Chances and Changes.
What a remarkable change has been effected by the war in the inner and
outer life of the people of the Confederate States!
We do not rightly or fully appreciate it ourselves, absorbed, as we are,
in the duties the war forces upon us, or distracted by the rush and whirl of
passing events. We do not, indeed,
apprehend that we are living under a condition of affairs as totally different
from that to which we have been accustomed from the cradle, as the life of the
antipodes. In very truth, the war,
if it has not taken from us at once and entirely the habits of our whole
existence in the past, has so altered and modified them that they are no longer
the same. In dress, in food, in
business occupations, in literature, even in modes of speech, we have,
insensibly, to a great extent, but certainly, undergone an extraordinary change.
It may not be unprofitable to look at some of these alterations in our
daily routine.
Take
the article of dress. Fashion has
become an obsolete, almost a forgotten thing.
We do not so much as know what is the reigning mode in a coat, a hat, a
skirt or a mantilla. That
anonymous, rosy-cheeked and well-gloved young woman, who of yore made her
monthly visits to the boudoir in the colored fashion-plates, is quite
dead, poor creature, so far as our wives, daughters and sweethearts know of her.
Indeed, it may be doubted if there be such a thing as a boudoir
any longer in these Confederate States. Hospitals
our glorious Southern women attend, and sewing rooms they keep up, but boudoirs
have gone out utterly. If, two
years ago, the belle of society could have seen herself in a vision, as
she now appears, in antiquated bonnet, faded dress, dingy gloves, (perhaps
gloveless, with her little plump white hands exposed to the admiration of the
public,) the dear girl would have started back in terror from the "perfect
fright" thus represented.—As for the men, such of them as, for various
reasons, good and bad, have not adopted the fashion of the Confederate soldier's
grey jacket, their only chance of knowing what styles of coats and trowsers are
won in the great world is afforded by the sight, now and then, of a stray
Englishman, newly arrived on the continent of America, and having just run the
blockade of the Potomac, resolved upon seeing the Rebels for himself.
[Nota Bene.—This change is an unmixed good.
Before the war, it was the universal rule that the People of the South,
like their Yankee enemies, dressed with ridiculous extravagance.
Men wore broadcloth in their counting rooms, and women managed their
housekeeping in moire-antique. It
is infinitely more respectable, to say nothing of the stimulus afforded to
domestic manufacture, to wear home-spun.]
Take
the article of food. Who would have
believed, in the year of grace eighteen hundred and sixty, that in the year of
grace eighteen hundred and sixty-two, eight millions of people should have
discontinued the use of tea and coffee, and in lieu of the latter, should have
learned to drink cheerfully decoctions of wheat, rye, sweet potatoes and
pea-nuts? Who would then have
supposed that through ten degrees of latitude there should be no Worcester
sauce, and that a dearth of oysters could be borne with serenity by a nation
long habituated to scollops? What
wild imagination would have conceived that white sugar would be extinct, and
that the canvass-back duck would be classed with the dodo among the most
luxurious of the Southern people? And
more than this, that these, than all, for our illustrations rise to a climax,
what anticipator of the future could have dreamed that, within two revolutions
of the earth round the sun, from the Potomac to the Rio Grande not a bar-room
should offer its beguiling beverages to a thirsty public?
But if the war learns us the lesson of self-denial, simplicity and
temperance, we shall have reason to bless the blockade.
In
business occupations, how few of us are engaged in the same labor that tasked
our energies two years ago? No
produce is brought to town by railway or steamer, the Exchange is deserted, the
warehouses are shut up. As for
books, such of us as have time to read at all, must fall back upon the old
standard novelists, essayists, and dramatists, for Bulwer, Dickens, Thackeray,
Collins, Trollope, Tennyson, "Owen Meredith," delight us no longer.
And, as we have said, the very vocabulary we employ now differs from the
mode of speech in use before the war. Phrases,
borrowed from the camp or from works on Tactics, are in everybody's mouth, and
are constantly employed in novel significations.
A sort of military slang has crept into the parlor.
At home the marketing belongs to the "Commissary Department,"
and when we make a journey, the member of the party that attends to the tickets
and baggage is the "Quartermaster."
If there were such a thing as dancing in our Southern social circles at
this time, (as there is not,) "forward two" would be an "onward
movement," and "dos-a-dos" would be "a change of
base"—while the "deus-temps" and the "galop" would
contend for the new call of "double-quick."
The
survivors of this war, who shall live to see their grandchildren growing up
around them, will have strange stories to tell of high prices and hard
times—of seventy-five dollars for a pair of boots, and a Christmas without
mince-pies or egg-nogg. But is it
not conceivable that our enemies, vindictive, implacable and demented as they
are, should not, as a shrewd and practical race, see at once that a people
capable of making such sacrifices, and enduring with cheerfulness such
privations, are terribly in earnest, and can never be brought under the yoke? The Caudine Forks are not for them.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 20, 1862, p. 7, c. 3
Written for the
Illustrated News.
The Rebel Sock.
A True Episode in Seward's Raids on the Old Ladies of Maryland.
By Tenella.
In all the pride and pomp of war
The
Lincolnite was drest,
High beat his patriotic heart
Beneath
his armored vest.
His maiden sword hung by his side,
His
pistols both were right,
His shining spurs were on his heels,
His
coat was buttoned tight.
A firm resolve sat on his brow,
For he
to danger went,
By Seward's self that day he was
On
secret service sent.
"Mount and away!" he sternly cried
Unto
the gallant band,
Who all equipped from head to heel
Awaited
his command.
"But halt, my boys—before we go
These
solemn words I'll say,
"Lincoln expects that every man
His
duty'll do to day!"
"We will! we will!" the
soldiers cried,
"The
President shall see
That we will only run away
From
Jackson or from Lee!"
And now they're off, just four score men,
A
picked and chosen troop,
And like a hawk upon a dove
On
Maryland they swoop.
From right to left, from house to house,
The
little army rides,
In every lady's wardrobe look
To see
what there she hides;
They peep in closets, trunks and drawers;
Examine
every box,
Not rebel soldiers now they seek,
But rebel
soldiers' socks!
But all in vain—too keen for them
Were
those dear ladies there,
And not a sock or flannel shirt
Was
taken any where.
The day wore on to afternoon,
That
warm and drowsy hour,
When Nature's self doth seem to feel
A
touch of Morpheus' power;
A farm-house door stood open wide,
The
men were all away,
The ladies sleeping in their rooms,
The
children at their play;
The house dog lay upon the steps,
But
never raised his head,
Though crackling on the gravel walk
He
heard a stranger's tread;
Old Grandma, in her rocking chair,
Sat
knitting in the hall,
When suddenly upon her work
A
shadow seemed to fall;
She raised her eyes and there she saw
Our
Fed'ral hero stand,
His little cap was on his head,
His
sword was in his hand;
While circling round and round the house
His
gallant soldiers ride,
To guard the open kitchen door
And
chicken-coop beside;
Slowly the dear old lady rose
And
tottering forward came,
And peering dimly through her "specks,"
Said,
"Honey what's your name?"
Then as she raised her withered hand
To pat
his sturdy arm—
"There's no one here but Grandmama,
And
she won't do you harm;
Come take a seat and don't be scared,
Put up
your sword, my child,
I would not hurt you for the world,"
She
gently said, and smiled.
"Madam, my duty must be done,
And I
am firm as rock!"
Then, pointing to her work, he said,
"Is
that a rebel sock?"
"Yes, honey, I am getting old,
And
for hard work ain't fit,
But for Confed'rate soldiers still,
I
thank the Lord, can knit."
"Madam, your work is contraband,
And
Congress confiscates
This rebel sock which I now seize,
To the
United States."
"Yes, honey, don't be scared, for I
Will
give it up to you."
Then slowly from the half knit sock
The
dame her needles drew,
Broke off her thread, wound up her ball,
And
stuck the needles in—
"Here take it, child, and I to-night
Another
will begin!"
The soldier next his loyal heart
The
dear-bought trophy laid,
And that was all that Seward got
By
this "old woman's raid."
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 20, 1862, p. 8, c. 1
A
Richmond lady, signing herself "Spinning Wheel," revives the home-spun
dress question again. She expresses
her delight with the letters of both of our correspondents, "Louise"
of Virginia, and "Bettie" of Mississippi, but does not agree with the
latter in regard to the boasted independence of our Southern ladies, for she
adds, "you may search through the city of Richmond, and will not find five
out of one hundred ladies who would be caught in the street with a home-spun
dress. They prefer buying any
'finery' that can be found, at fabulous prices, or patching up faded 'finery' to
make it 'look as good as new.'"
We
trust our fair correspondent will find an improvement next time she goes on the
street, and that she may see an innumerable quantity of home-spuns encircling
the graceful forms of our Southern ladies, not omitting her own.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 20, 1862, p. 8, c. 3
Broad Street
Theatre.
(Late Monticello Hall.)
Broad Street, Between 6th and 7th Streets.
Every Evening.
Harry Macarthy,
The Rebel Minstrel,
Will open the Broad Street Theatre for a short season, assisted by
Miss Lottie Estelle,
The Soldier's Friend,
Prof. Rudolph, and
Prof. Boulcott.
Harry Macarthy,
the Author, Composer and Singer of our National Songs,
Bonnie Blue Flag,
Missouri,
The Volunteer,
The Stars and Bars,
Scott's Ride to Richmond,
The
Letter from Shiloh,
Southern Rights, &c.,
in his
"Personation Concerts."
Admission 75 cts.
Seats reserved for Ladies and the Gentlemen accompanying them only.
See Programme.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 27, 1862, p. 6. c. 1
Written for the
Illustrated News.
Lines for the Juveniles.
Santa Claus.
By Mary A. M'Crimmon.
'Twas colder than Zero one Christmas eve night,
When far off in Lapland, the great "Northern Light"
In streams of wild beauty illumined the skies,
Like joy when it sparkles from innocent eyes.
Old Santa Claus, seeing the hour at hand
When children get sleepy all over the land,
Put eight tiny reindeer to one little sleigh,
And seizing a bundle, he started away—
Far over the mountain and over the snow,
As light as a feather and swift as a roe.
At last on our chimney he drew up his team,
And stole out as silent and soft as a dream,
Lest hearing his footsteps on top of the house,
The children, all sleeping "as snug as a mouse,"
Might wake up and catch him with pockets and hat
Stuffed full of nice candy, and much more than that—
Nuts, raisins and apples, and all sorts of toys—
Exactly the thing for the girls and the boys.
As light as a feather he came down the flue,
That seemed to grow wider to let him get through;
And there in a corner, all ranged in a row,
Were four little stockings, as white as the snow.
He smiled when he saw them, and winked his old eye,
But waited a moment, and then passed them by,
To peep through the curtains of two little beds,
Where, wrapped in sweet slumber, lay four little heads;
And he read in the faces of each little pair,
Who'd acted the wisest throughout the past year.
If one had been naughty, and told a white fib—
Another got angry and tore up her bib—
If he had his parents neglected to mind,
Or she to her playmates been rude or unkind,
From them he'd have taken to give to the rest,
For "Santa Claus" always gives most to the best.
But these little fellows, it seems, had done well,
For how much he gave them I hardly can tell—
To one he gave candy, a drum and an apple;
Another a pony—a beautiful dapple—
Birds, baskets and dollies, with sweet flaxen curls,
Fruits, flowers and ribbons, he left for the girls—
If either was slighted, I cannot tell which,
For all received something—and no one a switch.
"Good night, little darlings," old Santa then said,
And shaking with laughter, he turned from the bed,
And mounting the chimney, he started to go
Far over the mountain and over the snow.
This happened one Christmas. I'm sorry to write,
Our ports are blockaded, and Santa, to-night,
Will hardly get down here; for if he should start,
The Yankees would get him unless he was smart;"
They beat all the men in creation to run,
And if they could get him, they'd think it fine fun
To put him in prison, and steal the nice toys
He started to bring to our girls and our boys.
But try not to mind it—tell over your jokes—
Be gay and be cheerful, like other good folks;
For if you remember to be good and kind,
Old Santa next Christmas will bear it in mind.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 27, 1862, p. 8, c. 2
One
more Christmas, and still no holiday pantomime.
'Tis hard, indeed, that the sword and the torch should bring us such
untold suffering, and likewise deny us the pleasure of enjoying
"Minced pies and plum porridge,
Good ale and strong beer,
With pig, goose and capon,
The best that may be."
And the peculiar delight one naturally feels, on Christmas afternoon, in sitting
in company with those little bright-eyed cherubim, who have been scattered, like
sweet roses, o'er our pathway, and together laughing at the grotesque capers of
the Harlequin in the play.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, January 17, 1863, p. 8, c. 2-3
Summary: Fashion illustration of child's cloak of "Confederate gray
cloth, trimmed in braid and velvet buttons"
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, January 24, 1863, p. 8, c. 1-2
{The
following letter was received several days ago, and we cheerfully give place to
it.—Eds.]
"Camp near Fredericksburg, Va., }
January 6th, 1863. }
"To the Editors of the Southern Illustrated News:
"Gentlemen—It
has been our wish that, on no account, would we bring the deeds of our
"Texas Brigade" to the notice of the public through the metropolitan
journals, preferring to await the reports of the Commanding General, feeling
assured that, when those papers were published, we would receive our meed of
praise. Yet we felt it due to
ourselves that the article in your journal of the 10th January,
headed "The Charge of the 24th North Carolina Regiment at
Sharpsburg," should receive such an answer as would disabuse the minds of
your readers of the idea that the 'Texans, unbeaten before in this war, were
driven back in confusion;' for this assertion, if allowed to go uncontradicted,
might hurt that historic name that was given to the soldiers of the 'Lone Star
State' at the Alamo and San Jacinto, as well as cause the blush to mantle the
cheeks of our fair 'prairie flowers' at home.
The facts are these: Our
(Hood's) division, composed then of the Texas and Whiting's old brigade,
advanced, and broke through the 1st and 2d lines of the enemy, and took possession of the woods.
Holding this ground until we had exhausted our ammunition, (forty rounds
to the man,) our support not coming up at this juncture, and the enemy moving so
as to flank us, (in great numbers,) we were ordered to fall back.
Furthermore, the woods that we left were not regained during the
battle.
"Trusting
that your impartial and successful paper will allow this contradiction to
appear, I remain,
Yours respectfully,
"Texas Volunteer."
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, January 31, 1863, p. 3, c. 1-3
Written for the
Illustrated News.
Outlines from the Outpost:
Being
The Recollections, Reveries and Dreams
of
Tristan Joyeuse, Gent.
. . . A log chimney is a good thing to have on the outpost.
Mine
is the supreme result of excellent design, and heroic perseverance in the face
of difficulty. My assistant, a
sympathizing friend, and an African of ebon hue, concentrated our genius upon
it—and it smoked.
It
smoked! Terrible charge against a
chimney—as tho' you said of your wife, "She scolds!"
With this important difference, however, that a smoking chimney is far
easier to manage, than a scolding wife, I fancy—having only tried the former,
as you know. To cause the obdurate
smoke to ascend instead of descending—that was now the question; and a
reconnoissance in force revealed the origin of the enemy's persistent inroads on
my peace and comfort. The logs,
toward the tent, and just above the beam, leaned too much backward, as they
gradually ascended; and in a resolute moment, I tore down the wall of wood and
clay, and recommenced above, that is, from the beam.
Soon
the noble structure rose, gracefully notched, and picturesquely fitted with the
rough ends sticking out, in all their native beauty. Mud was then applied by the hands of the useful body guard,
above mentioned—a barrel was then perched upon the summit—and the admiring
loungers who had given numerous directions, as the work proceeded, pronounced
the structure perfect.
I had
left the edifice in my African's hand to finish, while I went out to dine.
At dinner, and throughout the afternoon I was ill at ease.
In vain did lovely woman, the "soldier's friend," exert all her
powers, and exhaust her charms. I
was far too anxious—a cruel solicitude tormented me.
Like a man, in face of an impending woe, I could not laugh or even talk.
"Did my chimney smoke?"—that was the recurring
thought, the thorn in the side of my festive enjoyment.
Anxiety so great could not be long endured—and I tore myself
away—made haste to return—and entered my tent.
An
excellent fire was burning—and not a particle of smoke was descernible! [sic]
Nostrils rendered supernaturally acute by deep anxiety could not perceive
a trace of it!
I went
out to the rear of my tent and reconnoitred.
The spectacle was satisfactory—soothing. There was the noble structure durably built of well notched
logs, plastered with mud; and on its summit, rising gracefully, an empty flour
barrel.
Satisfied,
relieved of all anxiety—victor over logs, and mud and smoke, your friend
returned with a tranquil heart to the department of the interior.
He lit his pipe; he gazed around—monarch of a smokeless kingdom, and
content.
Would
you like to know what his eyes fell upon—the familiar objects which greeted
his vision? I think so, if my
feelings are the gauge of your own. I
know that I should like to hear how you were surrounded at this moment, whether
warmly housed in some den like mine, or sitting with your back against a tree,
by the bivouac fire.
The
world is anxious to know the habits, modes of life, and "ways" of
celebrated warriors, or statesmen, or writers—but I prefer to be told all
about my friends. Do you?
At least I will think so; and here is what the eyes of your friend
perceived by the ruddy forelight of the winter evening.
You
may call it, if you choose, the
Inventory of goods and effects of Tristan Joyeuse, Gent.
1 Table and Desk, the latter containing Macaulay's History of England,
Vol. V.—Recreations of Christopher North—Army Regulations—Consuelo, by
George Sand—Bragelonne, by the great Dumas—The Monk's Revenge—and
several official papers. A Bible
and Prayer Book too, which Joyeuse still retains the habit, he is glad to say,
of reading, night and morning. Flanking
the literary contents—a bag of tobacco—a laurel pipe of curious design, the
gift of Bumpo—an old ink bottle—a pistol, cartridges and sabre; the latter
with a rusty scabbard.
2
Wooden chairs.
1 Mess
chest, only half as convenient as the old cannon ammunition box, long used for a
like purpose—with compartments, formerly for "spherical case," now
serving to hold coffee, sugar, and much more.
4
Blankets, neatly folded, on a bed of straw, kept in its place by a log—one
blanket having been brought to me lately from the North, and delivered in a
Yankee camp, free of expense, the owner not even staying to take his receipt.
1
India rubber "Poncho," excellent for rainy days on horseback, also
furnished gratis, on the same occasion, the agent of delivery having been
suddenly called away. My
Poncho, this is, fitting perfectly; but, doubtless, by mistake—marked with
another's name.
1
Valise, black leather, formerly used on summer journeys to the mountains, now
for a wardrobe. It lies at the head
of my bed, and is always open by reason of excessive cramming; containing as it
does at present, the stowed away spoils of Christmas in the shape of variegated
shirts, cravats, ribbed socks, and all my most valuable effects.
1
Saddle, bridle and accoutrements, on a rack, at foot of bed, in the corner.
2
Overcoats, which have been through the wars, and will cheerfully be exchanged
for one which has not.
1 Pile
of wood, by fire, and
1000
other things "too tedious to mention," but convenient.
Such
are the material surroundings of your old friend Joyeuse, at this place of halt
in his pilgrimage. . . .
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, January 31, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
Southern Planters
Should All Take It!!!
The Southern Cultivator—the old Pioneer in Agricultural
Improvement—the only Agricultural Monthly Journal in the Confederate States
that has lived "through the war," is still published regularly, and
will enter upon its twenty-first year, January 1st, 1863. Now is the time to subscribe!
One Dollar per Year in advance!
Address:
D. Redmond, Augusta, Ga.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, February 14, 1863, p. 8,
c. 2-3
Summary: Cartoon of black woman at a store counter, complaining
about the price of calico
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, February 28, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
Summary: Les Miserables, by Victor
Hugo, to be published in five monthly parts, each part a complete novel, by West
& Johnston, Publishers. Cost $1 each part.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, February 28, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
Summary: Broad Street Theatre to
present Grand Corps de Ballet and Tableaux of The Bonnie Blue Flag—Twenty-two
young and lovely GIRLS on the stage nightly.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, February 28, 1863, p. 8, c. 4
Summary: New books just published:
Diary of the War for Separation which includes Alex. Walker's narrative
of the Battle of Shiloh, 2d edition, revised and enlarged; Confederate States
Almanac; Confederate Household Almanac; publisher H. C. Clarke, Augusta GA and
Vicksburg MS
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, March 14, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
Summary: In press:
"No Name" by Wilkie Collins, published by West & Johnston,
Richmond.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, March 14, 1863, p. 8, c. 4
Summary: Just out—"A Strange
Story" by Bulwer Lytton, published by S. H. Goetzel & Co., Mobile.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, March 21, 1863, p. 8, c. 4
Summary: In press—The
Confederate, by a South Carolinian; Tanhauser, by Young Bulwer and a son of Lord
Westmoreland; Silas Marner, the Weaver of Ravelet, by Miss Evans of London;
Raids and Romance of Morgan and his Men, by Sallie Rochester Ford of Louisville,
KY; Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens, by S. H Goetzel & Co., Mobile,
AL
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, March 28, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
Summary: New books in press:
Les Miserables by Victor Hugo; No Name by Wilkie Collins; Greenway Court,
by John Esten Cooke; War Songs of the South, new, enlarged and entirely revised
and improved edition; Army Regulations; Manual of Instruction (Gilham);
Instructions for Field Artillery; The Picket, the Guard, and the Vidette; The
Theory of War; An Epitome of Practical Surgery for Field and Hospital; summary
of the Course of Permanent Fortifications; Handbook for the Practice of War;
Jomini's Practice of War; Infantry Tactics; Judge Advocate's Vade Mecum;
Ordnance Manual for 1863--West & Johnston, Richmond.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, April 4, 1863, p. 4, c. 2
Written for the
Illustrated News.
A Glimpse of Dixie.
"Vidi * * * * * * * * * * * Dixie* * * * * * * * * * * *
Caesar de Bello Gallico (passim.)
"I have seen Dixie—"
Free translation (rather)—Smith.
. . . I have seen Dixie; that is, I have had a
glimpse of it; but it required hard work and great wear and tear of patience to
accomplish the feat; and I have had the conviction jolted into me that the
present is no time for travelling.
The
stern necessities of war have so hedged about the traveller with difficulties
and impediments, that what was formerly a pleasant excitement, has now become a
bore; military exigency controls time-tables as well as battalions; it opens the
throttle valve and starts the steam whistle as it wills.
But I
am satisfied, and I suppose that every body else is; whoever is not had better
not undertake to travel, unless, like me, he can not help it. . .
I was
obliged to say that the seat was unoccupied; I took up the overcoat, and the
person with the fur cap, after inserting a very fat carpet-bag into the space
between my feet and the bottom of the next seat forward, let himself down by the
run into the place. I saw that he
seemed to be impeded and in a tangled condition from some cause.
"Is there room for this here trick," inquired he.
Now I had heard this Confederate word applied to various subjects, from a
locomotive, or piece of artillery, to a postage stamp's worth of peanuts,
(that's about as severe an antithesis as I can command), and I was a little
curious to see what the "trick" was, though I confess I was unprepared
for the interpretation in this case. So
I reckoned that there was room. "Come
'long here," said the person, hauling in, hand over hand, a strap which was
attached to something which evidently didn't want to come.
After some hard pulling, the fur cap prevailed, and the "trick"
was hauled into place next to the carpet bag.
"A
jimbo-jawed bull dog," I muttered to myself—and drawing my shoes to the
corner furthest removed from the "trick"—I mused in silence on the
comprehensiveness of the Confederate language.
Fortunately the "trick" was very docile. . . .
Crowded
is not the word which will express the condition of the cars—scrouwged
is better, I think, except that slang doesn't look well in print.
People filled the gangways and platforms—hanging on the latter in the
most determined manner, to the great danger of projecting trees and water
stations. . . .
[illustration
of giant turtle pulling railroad cars]
A
broad, red light glared in my face. I
shook myself into wakefulness, and became aware that the light proceeded from a
blazing lightwood knot in the hands of a peculiar institution.
"Possum, Sah!" said the institution, at the same time
displaying, by the assistance of a hoist with his knee the interior of a basket.
"What about possum?" I enquired. "Yes, Sah, da'ts it; possum an' bread, Sah; fifty cents,
Sah." [illustration]
The
appearance of the viands did not tempt me, and I declined to purchase of the
shiney-faced institution, as also of the other shiney faced institutions, who
offered variously "Old har [?]" and "Chicken, Sah."
But my confederate companions bought and consumed freely; and I became
very much entertained at the trading, and the professed knowledge of our varied
currency exhibited by the institutions, even to the probable sticking qualities
of a postage stamp. If the verdict
on the latter form of currency was, "Dis won't stick, Sah," there was
no trade.
"Hars
and possums must have a hard time about here, an dogs wus," I heard one
Confederate, who was engaged in consuming a portion of either one or the other
of the "varmints," observe to another. I greed with him, and settled myself to calculate how much
the apples which I had purchased cost a piece, when I gave fifteen cents for
nine—for that was the vulgar fractional price at which the darkey sold them.
But my
attention was diverted from abstruse mathematics by the strikingly original
position taken by an old lady—and taken with a nonchalance and contempt
of public opinion which was very refreshing.
I was obliged to keep an apple in my mouth to conceal a disrespectful
grin at the old lady's expense. I
had frequently observed my own sex in the same attitude, with the assistance of
two chairs. The old lady in
question monopolized a whole seat for the purpose of making herself comfortable.
[illustration of woman in slat bonnet sitting sideways on railroad car
seat] . . .
Governor
Vance has cause to be proud of at least one of his fellow citizens.
Not being very much occupied, I thought that I would smoke. I
asked the young man of whom I purchased the cigars, if they were good. "Oh! yes, first rate, sir; made in Greensboro'!"
I am glad that North Carolinians are so fortunate as to have a town where
they make quite a respectable cigar, and a citizen honest enough to say that
they were made there, instead of the little joke which cigar-venders are so fond
of playing, about their wares being genuine Havanas.
Long may the "Fabrica de Tobaccos legitimos de Greensboro'"
flourish. . . .
We
were off again at eight o'clock, with a further accession to our crowd.
I didn't find out that I was in South Carolina until somebody told me;
but after we had crossed the Catawba (how suggestive that name of a sparkling
beverage we have sometime quaffed!) I began to look out for Palmettos and other
tropical verdure, in my own verdancy, but Palmettos there were none, nor did the
face of the country look particularly different from that we had already passed
over, excepting the occasional cotton patches, now that the stalks and leaves
were darkened by the changing season,) and the concomitant cotton presses.
I was attracted by a peculiar sound whilst we were standing at a station,
and looking for the cause thereof, I saw one of the prettiest sights that had
ever met my eyes.
A
loom, and a woman working it. And
as she plied the busy shuttle, I knew that she was thinking of the far off
husband, brother or son, even now, may be, shivering in the chilly mountains of
Virginia, for the want of the cloth which she was weaving with a diligence that
is paramount in her sex; undiverted by that other little characteristic—excuse
me ladies—curiosity, which was indulged in by the men, who watched the train
as if they had never seen it before.
I
heard the shuttle rattling in other places along the route—and I want somebody
to write a poem which might be called, "God speed the shuttle;" it's a
new subject, and offers more inducements to poets than the hackneyed theme,
clashing arms, flashing blades, crashing shoots and booming guns.
At
Chester we had a nice dinner, nicely served, and what is of some importance in
these hirsute times, to gentlemen, napkins.
A sign posted on a neat shelter here, informed the passing soldier that
he might find refreshment gratis, and many availed themselves of it, being
waited upon by the ladies.
By
five o'clock we were at the Capital, Columbia. . . .I found only two specimens
of the Palmetto here; one is a very fine tree in iron, its verdancy is preserved
to a remarkable degree. It is over
a monument, enclosed by an ornamental iron railing, with four arches erected to
the memory of those of the gallant Palmetto Regiment, who fell in Mexico.
The other Palmetto stands opposite the market.
This is not so well preserved as the iron tree, for it is very brown and
out of repair, and seems almost to stagger under the weight of a big red tin
star. . . .
Stozanboz.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, April 4, 1863, p. 8, c. 4
Popular New Music at
West & Johnston's.
Rock Me to Sleep, Mother, (Song) Music by J. H. Hewitt
$1
The Same. Music by Leslie
$1.
All Quiet on the Potomac. (Song) $1
Speranza Schottisch. By J. G.
Griswold 50c.
I See Her Still in My Dreams. $1
Each Hour of Life. (Maiden's
Prayer) $1
Brightest Eyes. (Song).
$1
Juanita. (Song.)
$1
Lorena. (Song.)
Stonewall Jackson's Grand March. $1
The Maiden's Prayer. $1.
Let Me Kiss Him for His Mother. $1.
Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still. $1.
Ah! I Have Sighed to Rest.
$1.
General Lee's Grand march. $1.
Any of
the above sent by mail, post paid, on receipt of price.
Address
orders to
West & Johnston.
Publishers and Booksellers, Richmond.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, April 4, 1863, p. 8, c. 4
Pantechnoptomon!
Metropolitan Hall!
Lee Mallory, Acting Manager.
Brilliant Success!
Change of Programme
Each Evening
Will be presented Lee Mallory's Magnificent work of Art—
Jackson Crossing the Potomac
Also, the Scenic Automatic Spectacle—
Camp and Field Life in Virginia
And that wonder of mechanical skill
The Wounded
Officer and his Faithful Horse
Mago Del Mage.
The renowned Southern Wizard, will appear in new and
wonderful Necromantic Feats.
Smith's
great Battalion Band.
See
double bills of the day.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, April 11, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
New
Publications—Now ready, at wholesale or retail, Clarimonde:
A Tale of New Orleans Life and the Present War.
By a Member of the N. O. Washington Artillery, Also, History of the
Eleventh Georgia Volunteers, embracing the Muster Rolls, together with a special
and succinct account of the Marches, Engagements, Casualties, etc.
By Kittrell J. Warren.
Any
one sending One Dollar to the Publisher, will receive a copy of either of the
above works postage paid.
Liberal
discount to Dealers.
M. A. Malsby, Publisher.
Corner Main and 14th sts., Richmond.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, April 11, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
In Press—
The
"Step-Sister,"
by a
Southern Gentleman.
The above popular and highly interesting novelette, which was first
published in the columns of this paper, having been carefully revised and
extended by the author, will be issued in book form, and ready for delivery by
the 15th of April.
Address
orders to
Ayres & Wade,
Publishers, Richmond, Va.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, April 11, 1863, p. 8, c. 4
Summary: In press—"Les
Miserables;" "No Name;" "Greenway Court;" "East
Lynne;" Aurora Floyd"; "War Songs of the South"
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, April 18, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
Rags!
Rags!!
Rags!!!
Ten
Cents per pound will be paid for old RAGS delivered at our office, corner of
Cary and Virginia streets.
Ayres & Wade.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, April 18, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
Summary: New books—Resources of
the Southern Fields and Forests, by Porcher; Gilham's Manual for Volunteers and
Militia—West & Johnston, publishers, Richmond.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, April 18, 1863, p. 8, c. 4
Summary: Richmond Varieties—Still
Waters Run Deep; Ballad (Rock Me to Sleep Mother); double dance; to conclude
with the roaring farce of Irish Tutor.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, May 2, 1863, p. 8, c. 4
Summary: Newly
published—Resources of the Southern Fields and Forests; An Epitome of
Practical Surgery for Field and Hospital; The Stonewall Song Book; The Pictorial
Primer; will be ready in a few days—Colonel William Gilham's Manual for
Volunteers and Militia of the Confederate States; in press—UP and Down in the
World: A Novel, by the author of
The Lysles, Piety and Pride, etc.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, May 9, 1863, p. 7, c. 3
Notices to Correspondents.
"Bettie."—It is a bargain.
Send the homespun pants. We
have already ordered the paper to be sent to your address.
You could not have pleased us better, for we had already begun to despair
of getting a new pair of those indispensable articles during the continuance of
the war.
SOUTEHRN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, May 9, 1863, p. 8, c. 4
War Song Books.
Our new editions of
Bonnie Blue Flag
Song Book,
and
Dixie Hand Songster,
Are now ready. We also have
in press—
The
Cotton Field Melodies—to be delivered about the 10th of May.
Dealers
supplied on liberal terms.
Blackmar & Bro.
Augusta, Ga.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, May 23, 1863, p. 8, c. 2
Tableaux Vivants.
The living statuary at Metropolitan Hall provokes the appreciation and
eulogium of artists and connoisseurs.
The groups are divided into scriptural, classical, domestic, and are, as
Coleridge happily expresses it, "beautiful exceedingly." Among the choicest productions of art at the Hall, are the
front and reverse shield of the Coat of Arms of Virginia, after Crawford's
design; Cain and Abel, with an angelic presence; the Coronation of Sappho, an
idealistic design; the Dead Drummer Boy, a picture of the present war of
independence; and Famine, after the celebrated model of the Kellers.
We learn that the management are getting up tableaux on a more extensive
and splendid scale, and which are, for the most part, original as well as
beautiful. A debutante, in
the shape of a captivating danseuse, has made her appearance after a long
absence from the boards. She has a
handsome face, fine person, great agility, and with an abundance of what Tam
O'Shanter would call "life and mettle in her heels."
Very varied, very interesting, is the nightly programme at Metropolitan
Hall. The performances recommend
themselves particularly to the ladies, as they are chaste, pure and superb.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, May 23, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
Summary: In press:
Life of Stonewall Jackson, by Ayres & Wade, Illustrated News Office.
A Historical Map of The Siege of Vicksburg, and Its Approaches by Yazoo Pass, by
Captain T. S. Hardee., by S. H. Goetzel & Co., Mobile, Ala.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, May 30, 1863, p. 7, c. 4
"B.
R."—Advertising, through the public prints, for wives and husbands, is
purely a Yankee trick, which we trust will never be resorted to by the people of
the South. Certainly no such
advertisement as the one you send will ever appear in the columns of the
"News."
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, June 6, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
Raine's
Hotel and Restaurant,
Locust Alley,
A few doors below the Exchange and Ballard
House, Richmond, Va.
The Table is supplied with the delicacies of the season to be had in the markets.
Meals at all hours.
Permanent and Transient Boards accommodated by the day,
week, or month.
A. A. Raine, Proprietor.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, June 6, 1863 p. 8, c. 3
Summary: Full files of the London
Index for March 26, April 9, and April 16—West & Johnston, Richmond.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, June 6, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
New Music.
Just Published, new editions of the following popular Sheet
Music, arranged for the Piano:
Beauregard Manassas Quickstep—A beautiful edition, with an accurate
lithographic likeness of Gen. Beauregard on the title page.
Price $1.
God Will Defend the Right.—A soul-stirring Song, dedicated to the Defenders of
Southern soil, by a young lady of Richmond.
Price 75c.
There's Life in the Old Land Yet—A splendid Poem, by the author of
"Maryland, My Maryland," set to music by E. O. Eaton.
Price 75c.
The Stars of Our Banner—Music by Alice Lane.
Price 75c.
Dealers supplied at our regular rates of discount.
Blackmar & Bro.,
Augusta, Ga.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, June 6, 1863, p. 8, c. 3
In Course of Publication and Will Soon Be Ready!
An edition of
Smith's English Grammar,
Revised and adapted to use in the
Confederate States.
Geo. L. Bidgood,
Publisher, 161 Main st., Richmond, Va.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, June 13, 1863, p. 8, c. 4
Wild Western
Scenes,
(New Series.)
or,
The White Spirit of the Wilderness.
Being a Narrative of Adventures, embracing the same
characters portrayed in the original "Wild Western Scenes," over one
hundred editions of which have been sold in Europe and America.
By J. B. Jones, author of the first series of "Wild Western
Scenes."
Owing
to the high cost of Publishing, with Postage, I will have to charge $1.25 per
single copy, which will be forwarded to any address, postage paid.
The Trade supplied at $75 per 100 copies.
M. A. Malsby, Publisher.
corner Main and 14th streets, Richmond.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, June 20, 1863, p. 2, c. 1
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
Woven Fancies.
I sit before my loom to-day,
And
with untiring fingers ply
The busy shuttle to and fro,
Till
lightning-like it seems to fly.
And as it speeds from side to side,
My
fancies follow free and swift;
Now touch upon the shadowy past—
Now
far into the future drift!
I see life's web in memory's loom,
And
watch Time's shuttle through it move,
As in its warp and woof he weaves
The
golden thread of human love;
And think how dark my life would be
If
through it course no glittering ray
Of this best gift from God's own hand—
His
last and brightest—found its way!
It is not so—the precious boon,
With
power like that of Midas old,
Has grasped the threads with glowing touch,
And
turned the fabric all to gold.
My heart leaps up as I recount
The
treasures that it holds in store,
And sings for very happiness
Beneath
their soft, entrancing power.
The summer breeze comes rustling in,
And
fans my cheek with odours bland;
Bright roses bloom on every spray,
And
beauty dowers sky and land.
I feel the joy and own the spell,
Yet
from it all I turn away
To when these glories all o'ercast,
Shall
yield to winter's icy sway.
Then high upon the bleak hill-side,
I see
a well-known figure stand—
His manly form all bowed with cold—
His
musket grasped with stiffening hand.
And so I turn from bird and flower
To sit
and weave this cloth for him;
But from my eyes the tears fall fast,
And
with its threads are woven in!
For ah! my
coward spirit shrinks,
And
mocks me in a whisper loud:
"Weave quickly, quickly, fingers slight—
Perchance
you weave your lover's shroud.
Perchance upon this very spot
Some
ball, from foeman's rifle thrown,
May find a deeper hold than you
Right
in the heart you call your own!"
*
*
*
*
*
*
A Queen once labored at the loom—
I
claim a no less royal state!
Virginia's daughters all are Queens,
In
virtue of our mother great!
And so I'll trample down these thoughts,
And
from such fancies queen-like rouse,
To that sweet time when Peace shall crown,
With
deathless laurels, all the brows
Of those who, at their country's call,
Left
home and all that makes life blest,
And, with sublime unselfishness,
Yielded
themselves to her behest!
Thinking, then, in some grand old loom,
In
sunny France's vine-clad land,
A snowy web of glossy silk,
Shaped
for a bridal robe may stand;
While Flemish girls, with artist hands,
A veil
like woven frost-work bind,
And orange buds of Southern birth
Among
the laurel leaves be twined.
Viola.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, June 20, 1863, p. 5, c. 1-3
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
Two Pictures.
The First:
A large and luxuriously furnished drawing-room, the occupants of which
were scattered bout in various groups, in all the unceremonious ease of a family
reunion. At each end of the
long apartment was an ample chimney, and bright fires burned in both; but this
was less because they were needed by the temperature of the weather—mild,
almost, as that of October—than in respect to the usage, inherited from our
English fathers, which esteems a huge log fire as one of the prescriptive
observances of the festive season they celebrated.
The dancing and flickering flames threw a ruddy glow over the rosewood
and damask furniture, and the rich dark hues of the carpet, giving a still
warmer tint of crimson to the heavy silk drapery that lined, with voluminous
folds, the two deep bay windows, so large as to look like rooms within a room,
and bringing the lights and shadows of the apartment into broad relief. The immense chandelier that depended from the centre of the
ceiling, and cast a brilliant, but softened light, throughout the room, was
decorated with holly, ivy and mistletoe, and the numerous picture and mirror
frames around the walls, were likewise wreathed with these emblems of the
Christmas time, for it was Christmas night; Christmas of the fateful year 1860.
. . .
Like
her husband, she was glancing down the room. The eyes of both rested first upon
the children clustered before the fire opposite and delightedly playing with the
treasures they had found on the Christmas tree of the night before. The baby,
from his elevated position on the knee of his nurse—a pretty, arch-looking
mulattress—had an excellent view of the proceedings of his little sister
Alice, and brothers Claude and Walter, as they ranged their toys on the
hearth-rug, assisted in their labors by two little servants about their own
ages, whose laughing voices were as unrestrained as those of 'the white
children.' The nurse had
established herself in a deep arm-chair, like the one occupied by her 'old
master,' the Colonel. Leaning back
in luxurious self-indulgence, she allowed the young gentleman, her youngest
charge, to such sugar plums, bite his coral, and watch the other children, as he
listed. Very near to them, at a
table on which she had placed her book, a little girl of ten or twelve years old
sat reading. With her golden curls,
and blooming cheeks, she might have passed for the elfin princess, in the story
of whose adventures she is so absorbed as not to hear one tone of all the
silvery laughter around her.
Her
elder brother, Edgar De Lorme, a fine manly boy of fifteen, is kneeling at one
corner of the hearth, moulding bullets for his new pair of
pistols—seven-shooters, as he exultantly informs his factotum, Tom, who stands
by, every now and then rendering what aid Mass Eddy requires in the
operation—and between times examining and re-examining the ivory-handled
instruments of death with most admiring reverence.
A good supply of bullets made, Master Edgar next addresses himself to the
endeavor of adding a few inches to the lash of his new whip.
It is too short, he thinks. He
is not so expert in handling the skeins of silk obtained from his Aunt Marian's
work-box, as he was in melting his lead. . . .
Lily
is released, but her uncle takes her with him to the piano, to which he sits
down and sings an Anacreonetic song. Perhaps
it is the song that suggests the recollection of that drink which pertains so
especially to the season—egg-nogg. Armand
rings the bell, and presently enter two servants, bearing trays of refreshments,
and shortly after comes a third with a monster and brimming bowl of the foaming
golden elixir. A table is drawn up
between grand-papa's chair and grand-mamma's sofa, the tray containing the bowl,
and its accompanying glasses and spoons, placed thereon, and all of the "goodlie
companie" gather closely around.
Grand-papa, himself, dispenses the inspiring draught, filling the goblets
held for him by Edgar and Lily, with two dips of his huge silver ladle.
Each of the children must have a full goblet; grand-papa says so.
Even the baby boy receives a tiny spoonful from grand-mamma's goblet,
just to say that he has taken his egg-nogg with the rest. . . . .
He
received the boy from his mother; and, at a motion from him, the bell was again
rung—the music and play ceased—all drew near.
The large bible and prayer book were brought, with the kneeling cushion
of the old man. The numerous
servants of the household gathered in. Each one quietly brought up a chair, and
formed a half circle around the white family.
And the head of the house, the gray-haired father and master, rose from
his seat, the infant still in his arms—its sleeping head resting upon his
shoulder—and standing beside the hearth, made a brief but impressive
discourse; fitted, by its simplicity, to the understanding of the youngest child
present; but, instructive, from its devotion, to the most mature intellect among
his hearers. And then, kneeling,
all, each hand signs brow and breast with the sign of the cross, the emblem of
our redemption! And the prayers are
said.
Servants
and children are dismissed to their slumbers; excepting Edgar and Lily, who are
permitted to stay. The fire is
replenished—all draw closely around the hearth. The air has grown suddenly chill; or is it a chill upon the
heart?—for all, as with one thought, recur to the subject which has been
tacitly put aside during the day; the state of the country!—the prospect of
war! . . .
And so
talking—apprehensive of the future, but happy in the present—the hours sped
on—the night waned. Twelve
o'clock sounded; the Christmas of 1860 was over.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, June 27, 1863, p. 8. c. 2-3
Summary: In press—the Life of
Stonewall Jackson; Darrell Markham, or, The Captain of the Vulture, by Miss M.
E. Braddon.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, July 4, 1863, p. 8, c. 2
In Preparation,
And Nearly Ready
For
the Press,
The Melopoeian!
A collection of original and standard
Church Music,
adapted to the wants of choirs and congregations throughout
the Confederate States.
The
author of the above work, being desirous of producing a work eminently Southern,
and to encourage the development of Southern Musical Talent, begs to offer a
prize of
Two Hundred Dollars
for the best SACRED ANTHEM of not less than sixty-four, nor
more than eighty measures in length, written for a chorus of four voices,
(Tenor, Alto, Treble and Bass,) without instrumental accompaniment—the style
of music to be moderately easy of execution, so as to be within the capacity of
choirs of average training.
Competitors
for the prize are invited to send in their productions on or before August 1st,
1863. Unsuccessful pieces will be
returned, or, if retained, will be liberally paid for.
Address,
for further particulars,
W. L. Montague, or
Ayres & Wade,
Publishers, Richmond, Virginia.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, July 11, 1863, p. 13, c. 1-4
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
Outlines from the Outpost;
Being
The Recollections, Reveries and Dreams
of
Tristan Joyeuse, Gent.
XVII.
On the Wing.
. . . There is that music in the pines again—the band of
the brigade, camped yonder in the green thicket.
I have heard that band more than one thousand times, I suppose; strange
that I thought it annoying, when it is evidently a band of unusual excellence.
It plays all day long, and the regiments are eternally cheering.
Do you hear that echoing shout? You
would think they were about to charge the enemy, but it is only an old hare that
has jumped up, and the whole brigade is hot upon the trail, with uproar and
excitement. If there is no old
hare, it is a stray horse—a tall woman riding behind a short man—a big negro
mounted on a small mule—anything whatever. The troops must cheer and make a noise; and the band must
play.
Exquisite
music! How could I ever think it a
little excessive in quantity, and deficient in quality?
'We are going! we are going!! we are going!!!' I imagine it says—the
refrain of the music surging to me from the pine wood.
And as the brave musicians are about to leave me, they appear to excel
all their brethren. 'That strain
again!' and I hear the brigade cheering. They
are Georgians—children of the sun, 'with whom revenge is virtue.'
Brave fellows, they have got the order to move, and hail it with delight,
for all the wood is burned, and they are going to fresher fields and forests,
and a fight, perhaps.
Farewell,
familiar band in the pines! I have
spent some happy moments listening to your loud, triumphant strains; some
moments filled with sadness, too, as I thought of all those good companions gone
into the dust—for music penetrates my heart, and stirs the fount of memory;
does it not with you, good reader? As
I listened to that band, I often saw the old, old faces; and the
never-to-be-forgotten forms of loved friends came back.
They looked at me with their kindly eyes; they 'struck a sudden hand in
mine,' and once again I heard their voices echoing in the present, as they
echoed in the happy days before!
So,
sweet memorial music, floating with a wild, triumphant ardor in the wind,
farewell!
Farewell,
brave comrades cheering from the pines!
All
health and happiness attend you!
In
addition to the brass band above referred to, my days have been alive here with
the ringing strains of the bugle. The
tattoo, reveille, and stable call, have echoed through the pine woods, making
cheerful music in the short, dull days, and the winter nights.
It is singular how far you can hear a bugle note.
That one is victor over space, and sends its martial peal through the
forest, for miles around. There is
something in this species of music, unlike all others.
It sounds the call to combat always, to my ears; and speaks of the
charging squadrons, and the clash of sabres, mingled with the sharp ring of the
carbine. But what I hear now is
only the stable call. They have set
it to music; and I once heard the daughter of a cavalry officer play it on the
piano—a gay little waltz, and merry enough, to set the feet of maidens and
young men in motion. As there are
no maidens in these fields of war—at least, none at camp—we cannot dance to
it.
The
bugle takes its place among the old familiar sounds which have not been
sufficiently attended to and appreciated. All
these winter days, it has been but a call to rise or go to rest—now it is
eloquent with poetry and battle! So,
blow, old bugle! Sound the tattoo,
and the reveille, and stable call, to your heart's content! No 'purple glens' are here to ring through or to 'set
replying'—but the echoes in the pines are 'dying, dying, dying,' with a
martial melody, and sweetness—and a splendid ardor—which are better than the
weird sound of the 'horns of Elfland faintly blowing!'
There
is our banjo too—could I think of neglecting that great instrument in my list
of 'sights and sounds?' It plays 'O
Johnny Booker, help this Nigger,' 'Wake up in the Morning,' 'The Old Gray Hoss,'
'Come Back Stephen,' 'Hard Times and worse a-comin,' 'Sweet Evelina,' and a
number of other songs. It is a good
banjo. I hear it at present playing
'Dixie' with a fervor worthy of that great national anthem.
It is a Yankee instrument, captured and presented to the minstrel who now
wields it, by admiring friends! But—proh
pudor!—it plays Southern ditties only, and refuses obstinately to
celebrate the glories of the 'Happy Land of Lincoln.'
I have heard the songs of our minstrel which he plays on his banjo,
something like a thousand times—but they always make me laugh.
They ring so gayly in the airs of evening that all sombre thoughts are
banished—and, if sometimes I am tempted to exclaim, 'there's that old banjo
rattling again!' I always relent, and repent me of my disrespect toward the good
old friend; and go and listen and laugh at the woes of Booker, or the colloquy
with Stephen—above all, at the 'Old Gray Hoss,' noblest of melodies, and now
adopted as the national air of all the dwellers in Camp _____!
Good
bye, jolly old Yankee banjo! Rattle
on, gayly, and play all the old tunes! It
is singular how new and delightful they are—what a world of mirth they
contain. . . .
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, July 11, 1863, p. 16, c. 2
Knitting Machines
Wanted.
We are engaged in manufacturing
Army Socks
for the Confederate Government, and want to obtain more MACHINES. Parties owning any of
Aiken's Machines,
no matter what gauge, and who are willing to sell for $200,
will please forward to us per express C. O. D.
John Judge & Co.
Columbia, S. C.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, July 11, 1863, p. 16, c. 4
Piano Music.
God Will Defend the Right—Written and composed by a lady
of Richmond
$1.00
All Quiet Along the Potomac—New edition 1.00
The Beauregard Manassas Quickstep,
1.00
Never Surrender Quickstep—By E. O. Eaton,
1.00
Carrie Belle—A Ballad,
1.00
Violetta—A Ballad,
1.00
Exercises and Scaled for the Young Pupil,
2.00
Any of
the above sent free by mail on receipt of price.
Wishing
to discontinue the sale of sheet music, and having a large stock of excellent
music on hand, we will send, post-paid, to any one remitting us Five Dollars,
Twenty Pieces, comprising
Songs,
Variations,
Waltzes,
Polkas,
Marches,
or Guitar Music.
Great
care will be taken in its selection. Address
orders forthwith to
West & Johnston,
Booksellers and Publishers,
Richmond, Va.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, August 1, 1863, p. 32, c. 1
To Correspondents.
"An Inveterate Smoker" inquires concerning the best brands of
Havana cigars and all about pipes. As
an "inveterate smoker," he ought to be fully informed upon these
subjects, but we have no objection whatever to give him what knowledge we have
gathered from reading and experience. Of
Havana cigars, we believe that the brand of Cubana of Carjaval is in best
repute. His "weeds"
obtained the first prize in the Great Exhibition of 1851 in Hyde Park, and have
ever since commanded the highest prices. They
are mostly put up in boxes of one hundred each, and the mere smell of them upon
lifting the lid of the box is enough to run an "inveterate smoker"
distracted in these days of the blockade. Next
to the Cubana stands the Partagg, which is even preferred by some
consumers, and of which, like the Cubana, there are three grades of
excellence—firsts, seconds and thirds—and three varieties of color: dark brown, medium and light brown. Then we have the Figaro, a glorious after-dinner
companion, of which the larger quantity manufactured are "pressed" in
shape. These are known as genuine
by a representation of the jolly Figaro of the opera, smoking, burnt into the
top of the box lid with a hot iron brand. None
of these superior cigars are for sale in the tobacco shops of Richmond.
Occasionally we have seen a Cubana or a Figaro in the hands
of an amateur who had a friend on board the Giraffe or the Antonica,
but they have wholly disappeared from the Southern market.
Before the war they used to sell at from $80 to $100 a thousand; now they
might, perhaps, be retailed at any price from 75 cents to one dollar and a half
apiece.
As for
pipes, we are reluctant to enter upon the subject, for fear of being drawn into
a dissertation, and our remarks becoming, like the clouds that issue from pipes,
voluminous. Whole volumes,
indeed, might be written of the meerschaum, the hookah, the narghile, the
porcelain, the common clay, the dudeen, the briar-root, the corn-cob, and then
of the smoking tobacco in its endless varieties of Jatakia, Perrique, Old
Virginia, &c., &c.
Sublime tobacco, which, from East to West,
Cheers the tar's labors and the Turkman's rest.
The
meerschaum, we believe, is omnium consensu, the prince of pipes, when
made of the genuine Trieste article and furnished with veritable amber
mouth-piece. But there are those
who, having smoked the pipe of peace and the pipe of war, and qualified
themselves to sit in judgment upon the comparative excellency of all kinds of
pipes, declare without hesitation that the Powhatan clay pipe is above and
beyond all others. The corn-cob, if
finished by the hand of an artist, is a delicious and very beautiful pipe, and
has the merit of being easily procurable, everywhere.
As for the briar-root, which some dealers have the audacity to sell at
ten, fifteen and twenty dollars, it is in our judgment a poor thing, and will
not long enjoy its present popularity. With
so much of palaver, we dismiss the matter, hoping to enjoy a puff or two with
our correspondent when business or pleasure may bring him to Richmond.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, August 1, 1863, p. 62, c. 4
Vicksburg.
Will Be Ready in a Few Days,
A Fine
Lithographic View
Of the Siege and Bombardment of the City of Vicksburg,
Miss.
The
Picture gives an accurate and faithful likeness of the heroic "Hill
City," and Views of the Yankee Bombarding Fleet, the position of the
Batteries in the city, &c.
The
Picture is of large size, and executed in the best style of art.
Price
$5.00
Sent
by mail free of postage, on receipt of price.
H. C. Clarke, of Vicksburg,
Publisher, Mobile, Ala.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, August 8, 1863, p. 37, c. 3
A Blockade
Correspondence.
Edited by Refugitta.
Giving a Chapter of Yankee Fashions, &c.
Baltimore, June, '63.
Whenever
I sit down, my dear Florence, to prepare a budget for my friend, the underground
agent, I feel the heaviest weight of responsibility that has ever been inflicted
on me by letter-writing in all my life. There are so many things to touch upon, when the cacoethes
scribendi attacks me in behalf of Southern correspondents!
Every topic, from politics to hair-dressing, you ask for!
Are you, then, so bereft in your dear old Dixie Land?
Well, I have just returned from a Spring visit to Washington, which city
seems to have grown Yankee-mad, under the new domination.
Spite of it all, I used to wander in the lovely park of the White House,
and hiding beneath one of those clustering bosquets, shut my eyes and
fancy our peaceful times back again.
How
pretty it always was! That
intensely green expanse of turf, with its circle of swelling hillocks, the
fountain playing in the evening sun-light, the red-coated Marine Band, like a
circle of prim dahlias; the dozens of merry children, happy and heedless as the
little gold buttercups over which they rolled; the streams of well-dressed
promenaders; the distant view of the Potomac bounding one side of the landscape,
the white columns and trailing rose-wreaths of the Executive Mansion on the
other; and, over all, the dolce far niente of those holiday afternoons! .
. .
Oh,
dear! my paper nearly out, and the
underground impatient, and the fashions not yet broached.
I know you would die of envy to see my newest dress—an azurline silk.
That is a new shade of blue, bordering on purple, suggesting hot-house
grapes, heart's ease, and all sorts of pretty things.
All
round the skirt is a narrow quilling of black velvet (everything is quilled
round the skirt) and above there is an arabesque of black velvet, put in in
heavy points. The waist is pointed
in two before, and has a flap behind, exquisitely trimmed with velvet,
braided.—Small side pockets are never worn—and quilted satin petticoats ,
with silk looped up, as in the time of Madame de Pompadour, are revived. But heads, my dear, heads!
If nature has given you six strands of hair, take them, 'crepe'
them, pinch them, agonize them, until they stand out each on its individual
footing, and then you will be in the fashion.
Don't presume to brush your hair! That
is pre-adam, or rather pre-eveite. Right
in the centre of the forehead pile all the flowers in your repertoire
several plumes, jewels, if you have them, and shower gold-dust over all.
'Gold'-dust is imported and costs the moderate sum of $25 per ounce.
Let me tell you about the last fashion of 'rats and mice.' You divide the front hair into two parts, on either side,
roll the fore-lock back, and the back-lock forward over cushions, then put your
knot of roses or whatever trimming you choose in the center of the parting, a
la couronne. It is very pretty
and becoming to a full rosy face. Bonnets
are flat to the face, off two inches on top, and filled with full blown roses
resting on beds of blonde ruching. One
noticeable fashion is the total abandonment of low-necked dresses.
In full ball toilette there is a corsage of tulle, or lace, reaching the
throat, and long aerial sleeves. It
is much more becoming I think. Bodices,
a la Paysanne, are worn with every dress, toward the summer time especially.
I wish you could see the bewitching Paris boots I have, with crimson
heels, and a ruche of black satin ribbon around the ankle. . . .
Secessia.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, August 15, 1863, p. 45, c. 2-3
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
A Blockade Correspondence.
Edited by Refugitta.
Number 2.
The Answer of Florence to Secessia.
Richmond, July '63.
It is
very kind of you, dear Secessia, to try and lighten our obscurity by such
pleasant glimpses into the outer world, as were afforded by the letter I have
just received. But reserve your
compassion! With all gratitude, I
must express my opinion that there is a latent spark of jealousy for the dear
delight of freedom which we Confederates possess, as a set-off to your redundant
allotment of things pretty and new. I
confess that I look down at my old black silk, which has been renovated
according to the directions of that North-country dame we read of in 'the
Doctor:'
'Here,
talleor, tak this petcut; thoo mun bund me't, and thoo mun tap-bind me't; thoo
mun, turn it rangsid afoor, tapsid bottom, insid oot.'
I look
at this reverend and long-suffering garment, I say, and yield to a pang at the
picture of your charming 'azurline;' but then when a ring summons me down into
the parlor to receive a circle of gray-coated irresistables, I thank my stars
devoutly that I have them to appreciate me, in all my rags, which is more than
you have! Besides, we are not quite
so destitute as you fancy down here in this beleaguered city of Richmond.
Thanks to the inefficient blockade of King Abe, the route via Nassau
furnishes not a few of our families with all necessaries, and a great many
luxuries. I don't know how you
would like it, to come from your beautiful home to a corner of a crowded
boarding-house, and 'rough it' as we have done; but I have grown to be a true
philosopher. I regard it as quite
an amusing thing to go into a shop, now-a-days.
With a very few exceptions, the yard-stick gentlemen in Richmond have
arrived at a destitution of manners that is truly wonderful.
Should a lady perchance desire a skein of silk, she creeps meekly into a
store, and dares not express her surprise at being requested to pay something in
the vicinity of one thousand dollars for it.
The chivalrous 'exempts' stand behind the counter in whatever attitude
they may fancy, and smile with languid derision upon those presumptuous
customers who dare aspire to purchasing of their stock.
Then the petty milliners are a portion of the community most alarming to
encounter! Really, I would no more
presume to ask for a charge of bonnet ribbon, than for the roc's egg at once.
One has to enter their presence with the submission accorded to Eugenie
and Victoria combined. As to housekeepers, the mystery of the verb 'to live,' has
never been solved in Richmond; we have exchanged it for that of 'to exist,'
which we only just manage to decline! It
is a common saying, that where in old times one went to the market with a pocket
full of money, and brought back a basket full of edibles, it is now the fashion
to bring marketing in the vest pocket, and take Confederate currency in the
basket. If a servant boy picks up
your handkerchief in the street, you would not insult him by offering less than
a V! Even our old friend, the
benign and ever-smiling Monsieur Pizzini, has grown obdurately expensive, and
his festal hall is no more the resort universal of expiring Richmond in the
dog-days.
But a
truce with domestic afflictions! We
Southern people have learned and applied that rough old motto of 'grin and bear
it.' The hardest lesson that has
ever been offered us, and one that, God willing, we will never grovel to
accept, is that of Yankee subjugation! Do
you ever wish that you were a man, my love? Before this many-colored, many-sided war began, they used to
tell us that what required most courage was to walk into a battle-field, and die
amid its thunders. We waiting women
at home can tell a different tale. There
is not one of us who would not rather be 'up and doing' herself, than to face
the blackness of those awful 'battle returns.'
I have seen such sights—heard such sounds of anguish from stricken
woman, that until my dying day the shadow will never leave me.
One after the other among my acquaintances has fallen back from our
circle, crushed with the weight of her allotted burden.
Over all our land tears are flowing, that God's hand alone can wipe
away—sorrow and sighing, that shall vanish only in the realm to come!
Before
this reaches you, you will have been rejoicing over the advance of our noble
army—will have wept over its retreat! It
is a bitter thing to us, but not the less ardent is our faith in a general, sans
pareil, and troops, whose metal has rung true, on fifty battle-fields.
It is a dark time with us. The
red gleam in the Eastern horizon is again over-clouded.
Vicksburg, the glorious little city, has fallen; Charleston in imminent
peril; our whole Southwest endangered! With
the May, whose blooms were withered by the death of our great chieftain, began
our calamities. We have heard how
you mourned over Jackson—mourned with all the enthusiasm and reverence that
characterizes our Southern patriots across the Potomac—but it was worth a
life-time to see the grief of those for whose homes his life was sacrificed.
And what wonder. Hero!
Patriot! Christian!
first in the fiery storm of conflict!
first in the holy hour of prayer! Spartan
where duty pointed on—a child, when mercy breathed forgive—uniting the
grandest antitheses that a mighty nature can compass—who, in our country's
weal or woe, can ever take his place?
On the
night of that day of his funeral procession, we were admitted privately to the
Hall when he lay in state. I shall
never forget the glimpse at that noble face.
Every line was smoothed away with everlasting peace.
It was beautiful, far beyond my poor powers of expression, and we could
not weep to gaze at it—only rejoice to think that God had won back what was
too precious a boon for earth!
It is
hard to come out of our shadows and struggle into the daylight of the busy
outside world. I read, it is true,
but the words dance before my eyes, and I go back to the all-absorbing records
of my country's defence. We have
several new books, reproduced on execrable yellowish paper, bound in wall
covering, but acceptable for all. We
have Tannhaueser, a poem full of alliterations and musical medleys.
There are a dozen lovely passages, and several glaring faults.
Then we have all gotten tangled up in the mysticisms of the "Strange
Story," held our breath over "No Name," grown soft-hearted at the
sorrows of "Les Miserables," beginning with that poor Fantine, poorly
translated, taken a 'rampage,' with the young gentleman who was brought up 'by
hand,' concluded the adventures of "Phillip," begun in Harper before
the war, winding up all with a half dozen novels from that new sensation writer,
Miss Braddon—'which I mean ter say' as Mr. Gargery would remark, is about the
sum total of our literary enlightenment from abroad.
Thank
you for your hints on hair dressing.
At the
present writing, the "rats and mice" are running jubilant over my
head, and I am frizzled in imitation of great-grandmamma's portrait.
You omitted one very important thing—what about hoops?
Write soon, and relieve the anxiety of your friend.
Florence.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, August 15, 1863, p. 48, c. 2-3
Summary: Cartoon entitled "The Smoking Mania" with two men
commenting that what they like to do after work is smoke. One man has a
Powhatan clay pipe and the other a meerschaum.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, August 15, 1863, p. 48, c. 3
Housewife's Department.
An Economical Way of Preserving Peaches Whole.—To fifteen pounds of
cling-stone peaches take seven and a half pounds of loaf-sugar; put two or three
quarts of water in the kettle, with one teaspoonful of pearl-ash, to destroy the
skins of the fruit. When the water
is hot, throw in a few peaches, and let them remain a few minutes; take them out
and wipe off the skins with a coarse towel, and then throw them into cold water.
Take half the sugar with as little water as possible to dissolve it; then
put in a layer of peaches, and let them boil from twenty to thirty minutes.
Take them out on a flat-dish to cool.
After two or three layers have been boiled in this way the syrup will
increase. By degrees add the rest
of the sugar. When all are done,
boil the syrup until it becomes a little thick, then add, while in the kettle,
half a pint of alcohol, which will cool and thicken it sufficiently to put on
the peaches, which should be ready in your jars; do not cover them until the
next day. They will not have the
least taste of the alcohol, and are a very fine preserve.
To
Wash Lawn and Muslin.—Delicate lawn and muslin dresses are so frequently
spoiled by bad washing, the colors of the fabrics yielding so readily to the
action of soap, that it is better to adopt a method of cleaning the finest
materials, and imparting to them the appearance of newness.
Take two quarts of wheat bran, and boil it for half an hour in soft
water. Let it cool, then
train it, and pour the strained liquor into the water in which the dress
is to be washed. Use no soap.
One rinsing alone is required, and insures against change of color, but
gives the fabric a pleasanter stiffness than any preparation of starch. If the folds are drawn from the skirts and sleeves, the dress
will iron better, and will appear, when prepared in this way, as fresh as new.
Watermelon
Sherbert.—A Bengal Recipe.—Let the melon be cut in half, and the inside of
the fruit be worked up and mashed with a spoon till it assumes the consistency
of a thick pulp. Introduce into
this as much pounded white candy or sugar as may suit your taste, a
wine-glassful of fresh rose-water, and two wine-glasses of sherry.—Pour, when
strained, the contents into a jug, and fill your tumblers as often as needed.
This makes a very agreeable drink in summer.
Cantelope
[cantaloupe] Rind Preserved.—Take
one pound of rind not quite mellow, and cut the outside car5efully off, lay it
in a bowl, and sprinkle over it one teaspoonful of alum; cover it with boiling
water, and let it stand all night; then dry it in a cloth, scald it in ginger
tea, but do not boil it; then dry it again in a cloth; to one pound of rind
allow one pound of sugar and half pint of water. Boil it an hour.
Lemonade.—Boil
together and skim one pound of loaf-sugar, and one-half a pint of water.
Melt in a teaspoonful of water one-half an ounce of citric or tartaric
acid.—Let the syrup stand until it is cold, and then add the acid and a
teaspoonful of essence of lemon, and when it is wanted for use, four quarts of
water, and a little more sugar, if desired.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, August 22, 1863, p. 52, c. 3
The
Southern Punch made its appearance last Monday. It is edited by John W. Overall, Esq., formerly editor of the
New Orleans Delta. Mr. O. is an
elegant writer and polished gentleman, and we wish him much success.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, August 22, 1863, p. 53, c. 1-3
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
A Blockade Correspondence.
Edited by Refugitta.
Number 3.
Baltimore, July, '63.
The
thunders of Gettysburg have subsided, and its smoke rolling away, discloses to
us the retreat of our beloved army. Almost
simultaneously, comes the disastrous fall of Vicksburg, over which I see going
on around me mad rejoicings. Alas!
for our Yankee-ridden State. We
are pining, sorrowing, sickening, for a draught of the air of Liberty! Only a few days since we held secret sympathy meetings, and
every heart swelled wildly with the dream of emancipation; we could almost hear
the ring of southern steel in the distance—see the noble, way-worn ranks of
our avante-garde! We
pictured the starry cross, and pure white field, (so often reproduced in secret
by our trembling, eager fingers!) floating proudly to the breeze from our
monumental shafts—the glad huzzas of patriot multitudes—the curses of a
dastard, baffled foe—and better than all, God bless them, our dear boys' welcome
home!
But
'not yet, not yet,' is the sentence passed, and the cup held so closely to our
lips, is rudely dashed aside. Oh!
could those of you who censure Maryland—who say, 'let her alone, she is
joined to her idols'—see us now, as we fall back into the old, despairing,
black repose, I think there would be less of cavil—more of sympathy!
You
have read of the effort made by the Baltimore surgeons and Southerners
generally, to carry assistance to the Gettysburg victims, and its frustration?
That is only one of a thousand tyrannies.
One of the most dearly cherished of our 'institutions' (pardon the
Yankee-ism! I believe it is Mackay
who says that in America everything, from a fire-company to a milk-cart, is
called an 'institution!') was the time-honored 'Maryland Club.' Even the cockney Russell, in speaking of its members, says
'there is a peculiar stamp about them, that distinguishes them from most
Americans—a style of dress, frankness of manner, and a general [hole in paper]
them closely to the upper classes of Englishmen(!)
They are fond of sport and travel, exclusive and high-spirited, and the
iron rule of the Yankee is more intolerable, because they dare not resent it,
and are unable to shake it off.' Well,
it has breathed its last—strangled and stamped down under the heel of
despotism! A short time since the
doors were closed by governmental order, and the charge given to Don Piatt,
Schenk's bottle-washer, and a very dirty one at that. This Piatt has been shining heretofore in the reflected glory
of his wife, a strong-minded, fast woman, who wrote charming letters under the
heading of 'Bell Smith Abroad.'
By the
way, that French cook she tells about would be a real acquisition to your
Confederate menages. somebody
possessed this cook—a man of superhuman genius, who on no occasion was known
to be nonplussed. 'One day,' says
the narrator, 'I was surprised by a part of distinguished diners, who came
purposely to try my cuisine. There
was not an article to speak of in the house.
Barbetti looked puzzled for a second, but only a second.
Hang me, if I knew half the time what I was eating!
We had dinner—a superb, wonderful dinner—and in the midst of our
raptures, at its conclusion, we begged Barbetti to give us the real bill of
fare. It consisted of a Cincinnati
ham, my favorite pointer, a poll-parrot, six kittens, and four rats—the last
done up in a sugared pastry, as a dessert.'
However,
it is not patriotic to cast such insinuations upon your mode of living at the
South—now, especially, that I read, with tears in my eyes, of the brave,
besieged soldiers inside of Vicksburg, who dragged weakly from house to house,
asking to BUY rats for their sustenance. You
all have learned the philosophy of endurance far better than we.
In our impotence, we writhe, and beat our wings against our bars, burning
with indignation, and fired with righteous hatred, against those infamous
persecutors, whom, the Lord grant it, may be but 'piling up wrath against the
day of wrath!' But you have the
blessing which is denied me—the greatest, dearest boon, of national sympathy! Sometimes I cry my eyes out wishing to share your trials.
Like Beranger's 'petit homme gris:'
"Qu'il pleuve dans sa chambre,
Qu'il a'y conche le son,
Sans y voir.
Qu'il lui faille en Decembre
Souffier, faute de bois,
Dans ses doigts;
Il dit: Moi, je m'en
Il dit: Moi, je m'en
M foi, moi, je m'en ris!"
I am
sure it is no vain boast on my part, to appropriate the spirit of that matchless
little song. Give me the 'dinner of
herbs,' under the shelter of our own flag, and forever a bas, the stalled
ox and hatred therewith, of my present daily fare.
I wish
you could walk down market Street, and see the change that has come over it.
At every crossing glitters the star of a Pug-Ugly Policeman, and the
hang-dog wretches line the troittoir, in rude, impenetrable groups.
Then, such a shining galaxy of the gilt-edged aristocracy, that our poor
eyes never dare encounter it. Not
long ago, one of the prettiest, 'exclusive' belles, (before whose doors the
Yankee officers grovel to obtain admittance on familiar footing,) went into
Danfield's, on a shopping excursion. Just
in the doorway stood a magnificent specimen of Hosier-land [sic?], all ablaze
with military glory and gold lace, who sprang up, with officious eagerness, to
give her passage. Looking straight
before her, the young lady vouchsafed not a glance; discontented with which
behaviour, the officer stepped directly in her path, and obsequiously doffed his
cap, holding it in one hand, with a familiar smile.
For the first time she seemed to become aware of his presence; and
feeling in her purse, dropped a five cent piece into his out-stretched cap, as
she glided quietly on!
You
may well elevate your nostrils at my resume of the fashions; but withal,
I can't believe you totally indifferent. With
the exception of the New Orleanaises, Southern women, as a rule, dress badly.
To my taste, Philadelphians understand the science better than any, with
their lovely silver grays, and doves and 'ashes of roses,' and 'monkeys' ' last
sighs.—Those neutral tints, carried out in rich materials, are the perfection
of good taste. Boston women are
quite too much given up to ethics and metaphysics, gymnastics and the study of
the Sanscrit primer, to care much how they adorn their barber-pole persons. New York girls affect a fast style—extreme decollete,
as they whirl in the Deux-temps, or thread the German—the English jockey, in
their riding schools, and the debardeur sometimes, in an occasional fancy
ball. Washington, or as it was once
rudely called, 'Hag-town,' because of its destitution in youthful beauty, always
was made of cosmopolite dressers. Every one of the figures on its magic-lantern
slides followed what fashions he or she pleased; and it would have created no
surprise to see beside those grotesque Japanese favorites, with their straw
shoes and pig-tails, an Indian lady in a blue blanket, or a Chinese belle
tripping through the Lancers on her ten martyrized toes.
This
circuit brings us back to Baltimore.—You who know how to appreciate our
monumental city will not think me vain to award to our women, par excellence,
the palm in dressing. There is more
grace, and archness, and aptitude, and elegance in the knot of a Baltimore
ribbon than any other this side of Paris.
But 'nous
avons changes tout cela!" Once,
like every other party-gong female, it was my ambition to say I have been to
Mrs. A's.' I am at Mrs. B's.; I will go to Mrs. C's.'; to put on my gloves and
draw them off was the occupation of my life; my most poignant grief the
non-arrival of a Paris dress, or a dress-maker's failure in a robe volantee.
Now, I have come out suddenly into an existence that is chequered with
the rejoicings and sorrows of my kind—made up of the varied existence of a
bloody intestine [sic?] struggle. With
the tears shed for the brave and early lost in the late awful conflict, yet
moist upon my cheek, I return and return again to this subject nearest our
hearts. A few short weeks ago every eye strained, every breast beat
at the tidings of Confederate tread upon our thresholds. Many a mother stifled the weary longing after her absent
one—many a wife ceased her weeping to brighten with expectancy.
They were coming to relieve us, the soldiers we had sent forth.
Freedom and reunion of hearts were the words written in golden light upon
the horizon; and after; to all of us, Peace!
The
weeks have passed away and the fatal field is dared—dared and lost!
Back, back from our aching gaze have the Southern legions passed, and the
angel dream has dawned but to depart. Once
more is Maryland alone—alone with her great heart stricken and her pulses
quivering under the revulsion of her hope; and the soil that rebounds with pride
at the ownership of a Herbert, a Contee, and Andrews, and a Thomas, grows still
and sorrowful—sanctified forever to be the birth and burial place of the hero
Murray!
Secessia.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, August 22, 1863, p. 56, c. 2-3
Summary: Cartoon of a young lady and a thin older lady, both wearing
hats. The young lady says "Some persons object to hats."
She adds (? both comments are attributed to "young lady") (by
courtesy)--"Yes; but for my part, I think they are very
jaunty, and so becoming.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, August 29, 1863, p. 61, p. 3-4
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
A Blockade Correspondence.
Edited by Refugitta.
Number 4.
Richmond, July, '63.
Vanished,
alas! are the good old days of summer enjoyment; and as I sit here under half
closed blinds, with the hot outside air struggling in with every ray of light,
the interminable rumble of street-carts and premonitory symptoms of dinner, in
the shape of steaming odors arising up together, feel, in a mood, any thing but
celestial. God be praised that we
have not always looked at life through the jaundiced medium of town in the 'jours
du chiero'! Thank Heaven, there
is always a country to fly to! Do
you remember, Secessia, that summer's idling we had together before the war?
I feast with the Barmecide every day, in recalling it.
First, our wings, like the Huma's, paused for a week's shopping in New
York—and even we patriots must acknowledge that those mornings spent with
Stewart, Lawson, etc., winding up with a sorbet like frozen nectar, at
Taylor's, and the drive home to the hotel with the carriage, and our laps full
of pretty things and bon-bons, were not things to be sneezed at!
Next, we winged our way to Newport, where we dressed, flirted and danced
with dozens of people whose 'pur sang' was certainly not blue as that of
the hidalgoes—the Mrs. Potiphars, Guns, etc., of high Northern society, with
their attendant Cream-cheese and Gauche Booseys!
Ah, well do I remember certain drives on a breezy beach, with an
enamoured specimen of juvenile New York, who was 'fast,' drove spanking bays to
a high-swung waggon [sic], in which you felt like Mahomet's coffin, half way
betwixt Heaven and earth—wore sparse yellow hair, primly parted; a downy and
despairing fringe on either cheek, in imitation of his English exemplars;
peg-tops that baffled description; a gray sacque-coat, with shirt-cuffs that
beggared language; and, to crown all, a 'chocker,' that, like the fop in Punch,
he had evidently 'given his whole mind to!'
Can you realize, my dear, how I was ever enabled to deny myself the dear
delight of such an alliance? I have
shed many tears over the lost Paradise of such a lot!
Or
else, West Point! West Point, with
its enthralling charm over every gray rock, winding path, and wooded promontory.
The boom of that sunset gun, the clash of the glorious band, the very
flutter of the flag against the painted sky, are laid away in my memory, as a
tombstone, to mark the death of my happiest hours.
Then
we would skim away, float down the bosom of Lake George, kneel before the
eternal sprays of Niagara, dash wildly down the currents of the St. Lawrence,
stare our eyes out in Montreal and Quebec, and swoop down again upon New York,
for a month of gaiety rendered exquisite by our constant resort, the 'Academy.'
Abuse
me who will!—I am ready and willing, glad and proud to wear old clothes
from year's end to year's end; give parties off guba peas and ginger nuts; go to
church and sit and kneel upon bare boards; receive all my visitors in the Hades
of a boarding-house, where the part of Cerberus is played by spiteful widows and
accidental old maids, all ears, eyes and knitting-pins; sit down to breakfast
before a cup of Confederate 'rye' coffee, and a newspaper printed on paper the
hue of the 'Yellow Pest;' if the worst comes to the worst, to pin my belt with
thorns instead of pins, and 'bind up my bonny brown hair' with ribbons of corn
'shucks,' faute de mieux; but I must, shall, and will, reserve for myself
the right to sigh after the opera!
Down
the boards of Memory they sweep in a magical troupe—those sweet singing men
and women, whose tones touch chords that carry the soul up, with a thrill, to
heaven. Laborde, the graceful,
dark-eyed queen of song, raining upon the air the pearls and diamonds of her
wondrous 'Carnaval!' Frezzolini;
(why did we never accord her the welcome that uprose, in deafening applause,
across the water?) Wilhorst, the
pretty little American girl with her romantic history; Bishop, with her arch and
bird-like notes; Gazzaniga—ah! draw
a long breath, and remember how delicious that 'Orange Girl' was; Piccolomini,
the charming Lerlina, who made eyes at the galleries, and carried of a string of
hearts to hang up in the palatial wigwam destined for her over the Atlantic;
Colson—who shall do her justice? Do
you mind how Viola swept over the festal hall in all the pride and
insolence of her beauty—how, clad in white and violet, she played Dame
Chatelaine of her country home, and modest, womanly, and exquisite, received
the visit of Alfredo's plump papa; that dear old absurdity, Amodio, whose 'Di
Provenca' melted every soul into sweetest tears; how she yielded to the plot
against her own happiness for the sake of fancied good to him, and went home to
die of a broken heart! Have you
forgotten that last scene when the white, pallid figure comes trembling forward,
and chants her angelic 'Addio' to the world she is so soon to leave
forever—how the strength fails, and the hands uplift to heaven, and the wasted
form sinks dead upon the floor! Ah!
me—it will haunt me always! And
Patti! Pretty, bright-eyed,
silver-voiced little Adelina, the darling of America!
I would like to hear that 'una voce' once again before I die.
Mingling
with these lovely woman's strains, comes the marvellous monotones of Formes, in
the 'Erl-King'—Amodio Brignoli, with his bell-like tenor, as it smote the air
with its 'In terra solo' of the King; Mario—whose paean has been sung in rhyme
by Owen Meredith—
"Of all the operas that Verdi wrote,
The best, to my taste, is Trovatore;
And Mario can soothe with a single note
The soul in Purgatory."
I am
sorry I sulked about the weather a little while ago.
True, the skies did look like Aunt Chloe's copper preserving kettle, and
the air blew in the gusts of a moderate simoon; but now, a friendly cloud has
gathered and broken, and the great paper-leaf trees shading my window are
dripping with a cool delightful shower which has revivified the whole of nature.
Under its influence, and serenaded by a chorus of noble thunder-growls, I
feel much more amiable. Richmond is
a very Paradise in the Spring and early Summer.
The principal promenade and boulevard is Franklin Street, a long,
irregular, enchanting stretch of houses, containing here and there a formal
block, but generally, with each mansion following its own impulse and taking its
seat just where fancy seizes it! Every
house has a garden, or at least a patch of grass, and magnolias, dark leaved and
shining, keeps sentinel watch over every door.
Sometimes the shade trees fringing the trottoirs grow so densely
together that an arch is formed, like a Cathedral, over the centre of the
street; and up this avenue every afternoon—fall, winter and summer, carriages
dash, (coupes filled with bare-headed, pretty looking girls, toward the
warm days,) equestrian couples go by in an easy canter over the soft earth road,
staff officers, unequalled by Solomon in all his glory, city officials on gently
ambling nags, suited to their age and importance, countrymen of your own, who
wear stylish English suits, and look disdainfully down upon the private in his
worn out coat, at home on the first leave after a dozen
battle-fields—gracious! I have
run out of breath and limits!
I love
Richmond. Richmond proper is full
of noble old hospitable souls, whose roots trace back through a host of
statesmen and patriots. If there
has been a 'little jealous feeling' between the 'residents' and the 'refugees,'
to quote from revered Mrs. Grundy, I have had none of it under my ken.
I don't wonder that these everlasting 'refugee' wails and pleas grow
fatiguing. I must confess our class
is at a discount, and I really do think the exile privileges have been abused.
After all, I have had a capital time here—chequered, though it was, by
the saddest scenes of my life—and on the whole I left up my voice and cry—
"qu'il est bon temps, ce siecle de fer!"
Florence.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, August 29, 1863, p. 63, c. 3
Old and New Fashioned Dances.
As to balls themselves thirty years ago, country dances (now expelled by
way of joke) were the fashion, and fifty years ago, preceded by the minuet, were
the dances of the court. A lady and
gentleman "walking" a minuet (as it is called) now-a-days would be
considered typical of Adam and Eve before the fall.
Here, however, is a double mutation; for the quadrille, which has
superceded the country or contre danse, is but the revival of the
cotillon; while the game of quadrille, once all the rage, has been driven
from society by that refined edition of "all fours"—"ecarte."
The waltz, which invaded our shores in war time, and frightened the sober
and sedate from their propriety, seems to have been also a mere revivication of
a dance described, with singular point and animation, by the old gentleman in
the "Spectator," who says: "I
suppose this diversion was first invented to keep up a good understanding
between young men and women; but I am sure had you been here, you would have
seen great matter for speculation." Lady Blessington in her interesting and entertaining work,
"The Idler in Italy," recently published, informs us that the French
mode of dancing the waltz, is entirely free from the imputations which the
fastidious still cast upon the method of performing it in England. As
to dancing, generally speaking, it appears to be reduced to a fashion rather
than an amusement, for two reasons: one,
because if there is room left in a ball-room for dancing, the party is
considered dull; and the other, because if there be adequate space, the figures
are walked, or rather slept through by the performers, as if the whole affair
was a "bore," and that the appearance of being either entertained or excited,
was something too shocking to be though of.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, August 29, 1863, p. 64, c. 3
Housewife's Department.
Peach Jam, or Marmelade.—The fruit of this preserve must be quite ripe
and perfectly sound. Pare, stone,
weigh, and boil it quickly for three-quarters of an hour, and do not fail to
stir it often during the time; draw it from the fire, and mix with it ten ounces
of well-refined sugar, rolled or beaten to powder, for each pound of peaches;
clear it carefully from the scum, and boil it briskly for five minutes; add the
strained juice of one or two good lemons; continue the boiling for three
minutes only, and pour on the marmalade. Two
minutes after the sugar is stirred to the fruit, add the blanched kernels of
part of the peaches.
Brandy
Peaches.—Take four pounds of ripe peaches, two pounds powdered loaf-sugar.
Put the fruit over the fire in cold water; simmer, but not boil,
till the skins will rub off easily. Stone them, if liked. Put
the sugar and fruit in alternate layers in the jars till filled; then pour in
white brandy, and cover the whole. Cork
tightly.
Quinces
Preserved Whole.—Pare and put them into a sauce-pan, with the parings at the
top; then fill it with hard water; cover it close; set it over a gentle fire
till they turn reddish; let them stand till cold; put them into a clear, thick
syrup; boil them a few minutes; set them on one side till quite cold; boil them
again in the same manner; the next day boil them until they look clear; if the
syrup is not thick enough, boil it more; when cold, put brandied paper over
them. The quinces may be halved or
quartered.
Blackberry
wine.—The following is said to be an excellent receipt for the manufacture of
superior wine from blackberries: Measure
your berries and bruise them, to every gallon adding one quart of boiling water;
let the mixture stand twenty-four hours, stirring occasionally; then strain off
the liquor into a cask, to every gallon adding two pounds of sugar; cork tight,
and let stand till the following October, and you will have wine ready for use,
without any further straining or boiling, that will make lips smack as they
never smacked, under similar influences, before.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, September 19, 1863, p. 85, p. 1-3
A Blockade
Correspondence.
Edited by Refugitta.
Number 7.
Richmond, August, 1863.
To
bear disappointment gracefully is one of the hardest lessons ever marked out for
her scholars by that cross-grained school teacher, Destiny.
I have been grieving over the exemplification of this perhaps trite
remark, as evidenced in the harvest of our army's summer campaign.
Poor, downcast Confederate nation! It
is no easy matter to kiss unmurmuring the rod that turned the scale of
Gettysburg against us! It is no
light task to see a silver lining in the back-ground of that dismal three days'
ending! When I think of the gallant
blood running like water, and mingling its mournful current with that of
hirelings and slaves 'in one red burial blent;' when I remember the handful of
Picketts' division who charged up those heights and met death in an iron
phalanx, whose prowess will ring through all time; when I think of the eager
Maryland boys lying down without a hesitant pang, upon the threshold of the
homes they had died to redeem, and offering their corpses only as an earnest of
deliverance yet to come; when I remember the hopes staked, and the anticipation
trembling, for the issue of that daring onward march, I feel sick and sorrowful
to know what the gloomy verdict was. From
the moment that the sad tidings of beleagured Vicksburg electrified our midst,
to the awful day, close at hand, when the first rumors of reverses in
Pennsylvania fell like a paralyzing pall, there has been in our country's
annals, no such period of depression.
Let us
then, taking all this into consideration, look leniently upon the desponding
ones, who cry, alas! for the most fatal of mistakes. But what can never be countenanced, never be
forgiven, in more than a few so-called Southern patriots, is the wicked spirit
born like the Olympic deities to full maturity, which has been the mushroom
spawn of our great calamity. It is
scarcely necessary to do more than allude to its nature; we Southern people who
read with burning blushes the opinion of a Yankee press, which tells us that
'though Jeff. Davis is a fiend incarnate, and has served his people faithfully,
they are low and contemptible enough to turn with scurrilous ingratitude against
him in the day of reverse,' must know what this Hydra is.
Thank God, in the indignation of our country at large, there may be found
a Hercules to strangle it. But not
only against our pure and idolized President has the scorpion tongue been
raised. The christian soldier whose
light has been to us like the pillar of fire to guide the Israelites, whose
untainted fame needs not the offering of my poor eulogy to swell his deathless
glory, has been accused of yielding weakly to the tyranny of his chief, and the
blind urgency of the multitude! Ah!
let us recall how that other leader whom Virginia's hand laid long ago on
her country's pyre, met and outweathered a gale like this!
I
think it is Sir Walter Scott who somewhere says 'my voice shall be for that
general who will possess those qualities which are necessary to command men like
us: High-born he must be, or we
shall lose our rank in obeying him—wise and skillful, or we shall endanger the
safety of our people—bravest of the brave, or we shall peril our own honor;
temperate, firm, and manly, to keep us united.
Such is the man to command us!'
It is
a union of all these qualities that has made our Lee so peerless in our hearts.
Don't
you remember in our earliest schoolroom, darling, that little dog-eared,
brown-covered copy of Aesop, the oft-told story of the man and his bundle of
arrows? The moral is too good and
pithy ever to grow stale. Alas!
that there are those who should ever have forgotten it.
One of the toughest examples left by those nations who have preceded us
in the way to independence and victory, is that of merging every force with a
hearty good will and faith into the hands of their chosen chieftain.
Did not Hannibal yield to the distrust of Carthage?
Have we grown oblivious to the fact that men who were seventy times his
inferior succeeded, when backed by that Senate which rendered homage to Varro?
In the
excitement of my feeling, I wander far away from the topics that are inside the
chalk marks of a woman's allotted scope. Well,
sustained by a mighty faith in Southern
chivalry, my modest 'place aux dames!' goes forth.
Amid
all of our weariness and troubling, wandering, waiting, feverish, praying to
pierce a glance into the shadowy future of our stricken land, I am forcibly
reminded of an anecdote recorded by Miss Muloch.
To an
ambassador, tossing sleepless on his bed, his old servant said:
'Sir,
if I may put them to you, will you answer three questions? First, did not the Almighty govern this world very well
before you came into it?
'Of
course.'
'And
will He not do the same when you have gone out of it?'
'I
know that.'
'Then,
Sir, don't you think He is able to govern it while you are in it?'
The
Ambassador smiled assent, turned round, and slept calmly.'
Let
this adorn my tale; and now for some of the lighter tints to my picture.
I have been very much interested, during a late visit to the country, in
various home-manufactures, developed by the outside pressure of the blockade.
What will you say to molasses made out of watermelon juice, and very good
brandy concocted from the same? For
the merits of the latter, I cannot personally vouch, holding Mr. Stiggins'
doctrine on the subject of the 'wanity' of 'taps;' but the molasses is
capital—rich, well-colored, and of good consistency.
I believe it is made by boiling down the juice—a very simple process.
For the first time, I saw the sorghum in growth, and tasted also of the
syrup made from its cane. Each
farmer has a plantation upon his grounds, and in some counties I believe they
expect plentiful returns. l It has a beautiful aspect, in its present luxuriant
verdure. The leaves grow like corn, and are peculiarly divided in
ridges. The young cane is sweet and
succulent.
The
Virginia land owners are also beginning the universal culture of cotton—that
is, as far as they can, in those few counties not subject to constant incursion.
I don't wonder at the enthusiasm of extreme Southerners about this
beautiful product, the pride of Panola. From
the early blossoms, of faint lovely lemon color, like a very delicate
holly-hock, to the boll, bursting to disclose a fairy fall of snow, it is the
prettiest useful plant I ever saw. Then,
I was taken to visit the spinning-wheel, and made my first effort at that
charming art, rather an abortive one it proved, greatly to the amusement of an
old negro auntie, who stood by, grinning toothless approval of my amateur
performance. Close at hand stood
the loom, at which officiated a neat young mulatto woman, and I could not
restrain a wish to become mistress of an accomplishment so becoming to a fine
arm and figure. I am confident,
that fact once known, would become an incentive to female industry throughout
the South!
All
around us, the farm re-echoed with a hum of business.
It was the prettiest scene imaginable.
The quarter, in one of whose huts we stood, was embowered in
foliage—while each cabin had its separate patch of ground, devoted to sweet
potatoes, corn, tomatoes; in fact, as my cicerone, the mistress, laughingly
observed, 'their vegetables beat mine, all hollow!' The walks and floors were swept clean as the decks of a
man-of-war; the beds, covered with homespun counterpanes, woven by the servants
themselves; and the usual addition to such scenes, a billion or so of infantile
Ethiops, with their heels in the air, completed the cheer of the picture.
If you had my fancy for that species of dark-hued Arcadia, you would know
how to appreciate it.
Straw
platting is another mania throughout the State.
I have not doubt, you, with your beautiful Leghorn and Dorsey's fall
trimming of wheat-ears and lace, would turn up your nose at the bonnet grown,
and platted, shaped and pressed upon one spot!
But you would be astonished at the success of some endeavors in the
'Rough and Ready' style of hat and bonnet.
Almost every lady in Richmond sits down in her parlor, with a circular
roll of straw, to supersede the old time crochet and tatting, two feminine
fancies, by the way, of which my ignorance has always cherished unmitigated
horror.
I
would ask you to send us more fashions, but that the farce resembled those
melancholy entertainments indulged in by school girls, who possess themselves of
a stray cook-book! It, as Mr. Toots
would say, is of 'no consequence' to me that skirts are worn with double
quilling below the hem. I should
like to know what we have to quill, or, when quilled, to put it on.
Pardon the momentary petulance, but I think that when peace is declared,
my first act will be to burn up and utterly consume every article of my now slim
and melancholy wardrobe, which might almost be compressed, like Mr. Jingle's,
into a brown paper parcel, worn under the arm!
Pity your reduced friend,
Florence.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, September 19, 1863, p. 88, c.
1-3
Summary: Cartoon of extortioners being burned at the stake on a pile of
Confederate money. "This will have the happy effect, both of ridding
the community of their presence; and at the same time reducing the circulating
medium."
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, September 19, 1863, p. 88, c. 4
New Music.
Stonewall Brigade, Song,
$1.00
Southern Troopers, Song,
1.00
She Forever, Song,
1.00
Old Dominion March, dedicated to Governor William Smith,
1.00
Patty Mazurka, dedicated to all fair Patties
1.00
Rock Me to Sleep, Variations
1.50
Lorena, Variations,
1.50
Address
Prof. Charles Nordendorf,
Female College, Danville, Va.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, September 19, 1863, p. 88, c. 4
New Music.
Piano Songs.—Boys, keep you powder dry, price 75 cents.
Carrie Bell, 75 cts.
God will Defend the Right, 75 cts.
How can I leave Thee, 75 cts.
I see her still in my Dreams, 75 cts.
I will not Quite Forget, 75 cts.
Kiss me before I die, Mother, 75 cts.
Keep me awake, Mother, by H. Schoeller, 75 cts.
Let me kiss him for his Mother, 75 cts.
Lorena, 75 cts.
Mother, is the battle over, by B. Roeffs, 75 cts.
O give me a Home by the Sea, 75 cts.
Paul Vane, 75 cts.
Southern Marseillaise, 75 cts.
Southron's Chant of Defiance, 75 cts.
Stars of Our Banner, 75 cts.
There's Life in the Old Land yet, 75 cts.
Violetta, 75 cts.
Piano Instrumental.
Beauregard Manassas Quickstep, 75 cts.
Confederate's Grand march, 75 cts.
Beauregard's Grand March, 75 cts.
Our first President's Quickstep, 75 cts.
Soldlier's Greeting March Militaire, 75 cts.
Never Surrender Quickstep, $1.
Signal Corps Schottisch, 75 cts.
Brightest Eyes Gallop, 75 cts.
Pensiviania, 75 cts.
Music sent by mail, upon receipt of the marked prices, free of postage.
Blackmar & Bro.,
Augusta, Ga.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, September 19, 1863, p. 88, c. 4
Now Ready,
and for Sale,
Smith's English Grammar!
Revised and improved, and adapted to the use of Schools in
the Confederate States.
12 mo: 200 pp.
Price $2.
Sent to any address, upon receipt of the price.
The Trade supplied upon liberal terms.
Discount to Teachers.
Address
Geo. L. Bidgood,
Publisher and Bookseller,
Richmond, Va.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, September 26, 1863, p. 93, p. 2-3
A Blockade
Correspondence.
Edited by Refugitta.
Number 8.
Baltimore, August, 1863.
At
last, this dreary summer is ebbing to its close, and I gain heart, my dear
Florence, to resume my long indolent pen.
Truly,
we can cry with Cain, 'my burden is greater than I can bear!'
It seems to me that the sunshine of my youth has grown dim and dusk, when
it does fall across the pathway.—Even the Hope in my Pandora's box is balanced
trembling upon its edge. I sometimes think it is idle to mourn for the early martyrs
of this war; to us, who are left behind, the bourne they have reached is, in too
many cases, all that is left to pray for; they have found in their
dreamless rest the true nepenthe!
But, a
bas with these melancholy musings.—I can fancy you telling me that they
are worthy of insertion in the album of some 'Minnie Myrtle' or 'Clarissa
Cowslip,' who has registered at least one hundred vows of deathless devotion, to
as many 'dear, sweet girls,' on pale pink paper, with cerulean ink.
(One of those very receptacles that I met in a dress-maker's parlor, by
the way, contained an 'original' lucubration, beginning—
'When
hours are dying in the darkened dell of days'—a piece of alliteration (signed
Adolphine,) that so stunned me I could go no farther!
Apropos,
what a fiction is woman's friendship generally! It is such a pleasant thing to exchange eternal protestations
of fidelity in the dressing-room at a party, with Louisa, who cries 'my dearest
child! that exquisite tarlatane!
And who but you would have dreamed of this heavenly coiffure.
Mamma often tells me that no one of her acquaintance has your
taste; do kiss me again, darling—there, don't let me rumple you;' and a couple
of hours afterwards; wedged in behind the supper-room door, with your attendant,
Smith, to overhear a chat like this—
'What!
You don't think Angelo Price pretty.
Why, she is called one of our greatest belles.
Well, then you surely must admire Secessia _____.
She is my dearest friend, and such a sweet creature; if I only
could persuade her not to wear blue with that sallow skin—and pink flowers
stuck on as if she had butted headlong into a milliner's shop, and come out
adorned like a promenading rainbow! Then,
to be sure—now don't look so satirical, Mr. Jones—I know you are thinking
about that absurd little nose of her's [sic], which turns up as if it were
disgusted with the view of her lips, which are too thin and wide, I must
admit.—You men are so serious upon us poor girls, and I really sha'nt allow
you to think such naughty things about that sweet Secessia.
Now, don't demur Mr. Jones—I see it in your eyes, and when you have
that quizzical expression, I never know who will fall next under your lash.
she is just as amiable as she can be—and if she only wouldn't allow
herself to be persuaded into singing in a crowd, with that poor little
sparrow-chirp of a voice, would be quite lovely, as I often tell her, the dear,
good-natured thing. What!
You don't want to be introduced, Mr. Jones!
Why, they say she dances delightfully, if she does rattle, etc.,
etc., ad infinitum.'
All
this I stand and hear, feeling as though my new satin shoes had suddenly shrunk
up to two sizes less than my usual number, while poor Mr. Jones, whose blank
wall countenance has been guiltless of all change from time immemorial, strokes
his hay colored moustache in mystified awe of his discriminating companion.
It is nothing new to me—and I come down stairs the next day, when
Louisa calls upon me—and kiss her with extreme effusion.
Bah!
To my mind, the best epitome of feminine affection lies in that scene
from London 'Punch'—
'Good-bye,
dear—come round soon, spend a nice long day, and I will show you all my new
things.'
'Oh
yes, love! That will be so nice.'
And
the osculations form frequent parentheses.
Ansi va le monde! But
only the 'world,' thank heaven! I
am glad that behind its disillusioning process, which drops gall into the
reddest wine cups, there is true love, true sympathy, true friendship, steady,
burning ever like the lamp of Vesta, and lasting through change and time.
It is all summed up in what a sweet, sad poet woman, has sung:
"Oh! ask not, hope though not too much
Of sympathy below;
Few are the hearts whence one same touch
Bids the sweet fountain flow.
For that full bliss of thought allied,
Never to mortals given,
Oh! lay thy lovely dreams
aside,
And life them up to Heaven."
I
commenced this scrawl with the intention of confining myself to the actual facts
of our present oppressed existence. As
usual, I have strayed far off into the by lanes.
And now to claim your attention from Secessia visionary to Secessia
practical, let me tell you of our late life in this changed old home of my
allegiance—Baltimore.
You
have, of course, heard startling reports of the fortifications thrown up in and
around our city, at the time of Gen. Lee's advance.—Tremble, timorous
Southrons, as well ye may, at the impregnable barricades formed of a line of
hogsheads filled with sand, formed across our principal streets!
They have had a species of reduced curfew system instituted latterly, and
precisely when the clock is on 'the stroke o' ten,' I have found myself obliged
to spring up after the fashion of Cinderella, and make my way back, so as to
ensure passing the picketed barricade to reach my home.
Our house has been searched for 'arms and letters,' and the valiant
Federals succeeded in capturing (after a severe skirmish wit me) six cartridges
and a package of my old billets doux, which if they had the patience to
read, it is more than I ever had. With
their spoils they retreated triumphantly. As
they turned to go, I sank into a chair and exhaustedly calling for a smelling
bottle and a fan, directed the servants to scour the house from top to bottom.
My victors looked furiously back at me, but remembering, doubtless, the
anecdote of the tailor's wife and the scissors, concluded to walk off like so
many smouldering Aetnas!
You
will be wondering all the while why I have endured the tortures of our ingenious
inquisition when there is a spot of green rurality to fly to.
Simply because the regulations have grown so stringent that every
Baltimorean leaving the city is compelled to take the oath in order to procure a
passport. The inhabitants of the
villages and neighborhoods throughout Baltimore county, suspected of disloyalty
to the Union, as evidenced by their allowing a rebel raid without informing the
United States authorities, are forbidden to enter the city without taking the
oath. I was much amused at the
royal vengeance of our masters, lately exhibited upon two or three hapless
individuals who ventured to smile at the absurdity of their sand hogsheads.
The offenders were summarily sent South, and ever since the gravity
exhibited by the passers-by leads one to believe them the avant garde of
a funeral procession. We were
lately permitted to drive to the Fort,
and saw sitting upon the grass, under guard, a number of Confederate prisoners,
among whom I recognized several of our friends.—What were my feelings upon
being forced to pass them by without one sign of recognition.
You may be sure there was a glance interchanged that spoke volumes in
spite of Yankee bayonets! If my own
dear brother, now fighting for us in Dixie, had been among them a word to him
would have been at the penalty of banishment or the bastile!
A few
words before I have finished upon the subject that has been so deep a source of
mortification and distress to us Southerners.
It has no doubt been represented to you in Richmond, that, in compliance
with Gen. Schenk's order upon the Fourth of July, and with the fear of a patrol
of 'Union Leaguers' before their eyes, the secession citizens of Baltimore
united to raise the Yankee flag as a protection to their dwellings.
I am obliged, with a burning blush for the weakness which could have
prompted it, to confess that in more than one case this degrading measure was
adopted. In those, who had the
courage to face their tyrant's decree, how much more glorious the upright and
fearless declaration of their true principles.
Let the craven-spirited remember that they have set the first taint upon
the fair fame of patriot Baltimore!
Secessia.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 3, 1863, p. 101, c. 1-2
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
A Blockade Correspondence.
Edited by Refugitta.
Number 9.
________ County, Va., 1863.
Beautiful,
warm, golden September, finds me off in the country, revelling in delights that
make the picture of Richmond—left behind—dull by contrast.
Ah! if I could but faintly
shadow forth, for your benefit, poor 'melancholy starling,' a semblance of the
sweet scenes around me that turn the lock in the face of grim-visaged war and
bring back to my thirsting soul, memories—dear, blessed memories—of home and
girlhood, that I had thought banished for ever in the after days of darkness!
Somehow
or other, amid the various iconoclastic expeditions of the enemy, this little
nook of a Virginia homestead has been spared.
It is just the very spot to enjoy, after a run away from that 'microcosm,
on stilts, yclept the great world,'—fresh, dewy, tranquil, hung with an
unbroken calm that makes me start at the liquid gush of a bird note, or the
lowing of far off cows. Ah! ______,
there is not upon earth an enjoyment so delicious as that of a walk in the
russeting woods, the deep green varied by an upshooting column of some decayed
tree, wrapped in the foliage of a scarlet vine, and here and there a sweet-gum
or maple, blushing with the kiss of early Autumn!
Such
rambles as we have had—such chinquapen hunts after the pretty little shining
brown nuts, laughing behind their prickly green whiskers—such idle saunterings
homewards, in the opaline light that falls just after sunset—when the cloud
turrets fade away, and the fringy marsh flowers lose their glowing tints against
the dark outline of the perfumed pines—that fairy time, so fitly apostrophised
in the words of the starving day-laborer, John Bethune, who, when only
seventeen, sent up his rude, uncultured heart, in strains like these:
"Hail, hallowed evening! sacred
hour to me!
Thy clouds of gray, thy vocal melody,
They dreamy silence oft to me have brought
A sweet exchange from toil to peaceful thought;
------And I
Have consecrated thee, bright evening sky,
My fount of inspiration; and I fling
My spirit on thy clouds—an offering
To the great Deity of dying day,
Who hath transfused o'er thee his purple ray."
Is it
not almost worth breaking stones on the parish road, like that poor boy, to have
such lovely lines evoked? They seem
to me to stand side by side with the famous ones of Dante, beginning—'Era
gia l'ora.' After all the great
leaven of God, with which He has sowed the seeds of Truth and Beauty, has
fulfilled its mission in bringing up to the surface such gems as that.
It has touched the secret lute-strings of a humble Burns-has painted
images of heavenly mould before the limited vision of an Ettrick shepherd lad;
and has fallen with a luminous glow around the death-bed of the wretched
cast-off and suicide, Chatterton. The
'talents' of our Heavenly Father are not strewn strewn broadcast, and with a
thoughtless hand.
In the
midst of our chosen calm, comes to us blazing pictures of the outer-world
jollity, especially in the region of the army, where report says Mars and Momus
are holding a fete-day together. With
the vivid recollection that I keep of camp-gayety in days gone by—of the
reviews, dinners, dress-parades, and gallops in the vicinity of old Manassas,
when, as yet, it was in its babyhood, and the clash of arms—a thing to wonder
at—it requires some resolution not to cast an eye of repining after those
remote 'joys that I've tasted.' Speaking
of that reminds me, do you remember our dinner party at Camp _____ near Fairfax,
(before you found it necessary to go back into thraldom,) Secessia?
Such a merry gathering as it was, round the camp-chest, dubbed, par
excellence, a table, where we drank health and success to our entertainers
in bumpers of claret and champagne, served in battered tin-cups—where we eat
raw potatoes, and raw chicken-pie, vowing all the while, that Soyer himself
couldn't have surpassed it—where the dessert was headed by a pate
composed for the occasion by a master cook in the ranks of Company Z, hard by,
and which, with a bountiful array of brown sugar, we contrived to swallow
without making very wry faces—where that gallant young Captain, so soon to be
laid low on the bloody sods of Richmond, sprang up on a barrel-head, and, under
the folds of our battle-flag, improvised the serio-comic address, that I now
recall so sadly!
Why
must the dark back-ground be to every bright web of tapestry I weave from the
skein of the Past? Running the
blockade last March I passed over every spot of the classic soil from Manassas
to Union Mills, Centreville, and Fairfax. The
last time I was one of a jovial ambulance party, under escort of a picked
cavalry band, trotting lightly through the leafy forest roads, and making the
woods ring with our bandied jests and nonsense. Now, we crept wearily on, over deserted wagon-tracks, over
desolate sloughs of 'black-jack' mud, through melancholy wastes of moorland, and
under weeping skies—our vehicle a market trap of the most forlorn, drawn by
two starved nondescripts, who varied our freezing drive by halting every five
moments, to evince their stolid determination not to budge an inch farther.
Here and there came something that our imperturbable driver called 'only
a leetle skip for the beasts, marm,' but what, to my inexperienced eyes,
looked like a precipice, with a foaming torrent beneath, which Heaven only knew
how we were to cross—finally accomplished, however, by an amount of banging,
coaxing, cursing, prizing, pushing and tugging, that outdoes my descriptive
faculties. The little 'skip,' so
frequently recurring, proved quite too much for my patience, as well as that of
the 'beasts,' and once, if a convenient Hercules, from a neighboring farm, had
not appeared in answer to my cry, for aught I know, we might have remained
bawling forever in the Slough of (Prince William) Despond!
You
cannot conceive a more desolate picture than that stretched around as we plodded
our weary way. Dear old camp
Pickens, that gathering place of Southern chivalry could be recognized alone by
the junction of the Manassas and Orange railroads and the position of the
ground. Every tree was felled and
building destroyed, while waste and solitude reigned absolute. At another camp ground farther on, the earth was inlaid with
some curious foreign substance, which, upon examination, proved to be hundreds
of old shoes cast away by the Yankee troops when newly shod upon the onward
march. What had been handsome old
homesteads, crowning the various heights, glared solemnly down at us out of
their hollow eye-sockets, and showed ghastly whitened fronts, round which the
wild March winds soughed bleakly. Over
the barren hillside was scattered an occasional tall old pine, and for miles the
silence was mournfully unbroken, save by the cawing of an evil crow.
Oh! how I shuddered at the
ghostly sound and the supernatural calm! Always
remembering that the night was falling, and our nervous driver in constant
tremor on the subject of a stray Yankee scouting party, you may imagine my
feelings were none of the pleasantest. l I felt, in contrasting my last
experience with this, like some spirit come back to survey the sepulchre of
ages. How many of the intellects, the strengths, the youthful
hopes, that would have built up the destiny of our blighted Southern land, had
found their end upon these awful plains. All
about me were sown mounds of earth, the only sign to mark our unrecorded
dead—sole mausoleum of a nation's pride!
But tiens!
If I go with these doleful
retrospects you will think me on a par with the croaking bird of my story; and,
as to my moralizings, Joseph Surface would find it hard to exceed them.
Write to me again, and this time I will solicit a small rechauffe
of the banquet spread for you by that delightful caterer, Dame Fashion.
The swift tread of the melancholy days makes me shiver in the embrace of
summer muslins.
Florence.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 3, 1863, p. 101, c. 3
A Beautiful Idea.
It is pleasant to see a green old age, like a Christmas tree, comfortably
boxed in at home. It is pleasant to
see its trunk, bent beneath the weight of riches, surrounded by a host of happy
children. It is pleasant to see it
stretching out its hospitable arms to all, as though it were anxious to embrace
the entire party. It is pleasant to
see it blossoming with generous things, and shedding a cheerful light on the gay
circle it delights in drawing round it. And
it is pleasant to see it distributing, with a lavish hand, the treasures it has
accumulated on all branches, and to notice its head rising higher ever time it
parts with a fresh gift!
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 10, 1863, p. 112, c. 1-3
Summary: Cartoon entitled "Contrast" shows a lonely Confederate
prisoner in a dark cell of the Ohio Penitentiary, versus Federal prisoners
enjoying themselves outside with tents on Belle Isle.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 10, 1863, p. 112, p. 3
Housewife's Department.
Removing Grease Spots out of Silk.—Take a lump of magnesia and rub it
wet over the spot; let it dry, then brush the powder off, and the spot will
disappear; or take a visiting card, separate it, and rub the spot with the soft
internal part, and it will disappear without taking the gloss off the silk.
How to
Remove Mildew from Linen.—First of all, take some soap (any common sort will
do), and rub it well into the linen, then scrape some chalk very fine, and rub
that in also; lay the linen on the grass, and as it dries wet it again; twice or
thrice doing will remove the mildew stains.
All
linen will turn yellow if left long unused, locked up in a linen press, excluded
from air and light; so the best way that I have found of restoring it to its
color is to expose it to the open air in nice dry weather. Exposure to the light and continual airing will be found the
best way of preserving its whiteness. I
know of none other.
French
Cake.—Two cups sugar, three of flour, half a cup butter, three eggs, one cup
milk, two teaspoons cream tartar, one teaspoon soda.
Jumbles.—Three
cups of sugar, two of butter, three eggs, four tablespoons of sour cream, one
teaspoon saleratus. Roll thin;
sprinkle coffee sugar thickly on the top before placing them in the oven.
To
Make Yeast.—Five large potatoes, one quart boiling water, one cup brown sugar,
one cup yeast. Boil your potatoes,
and sift them; add your sugar, when milk warm, to your yeast; half a cup is
sufficient for two loaves.
Orange
Color.—Two ounces of saleratus, one ounce of otter [note:
probably amaretto seed], six quarts of soft water.
Dip your yarn in hot water, then in the dye. Boil one hour.
Cleaning
Knives and Forks.—It is an excellent way to have, at dinner-time, on a
side-table, a deep, tall, japanned or painted mug or can, filled with sufficient
hot water to cover the blades of the knives and forks, but not enough to reach
to their handles, which the hot water would split or loosen. As the plates are taken from the table, the servant who waits
should at once stand the knives and forks upright (blade downwards) in this
vessel of water, which will prevent the grease from drying on them, and make
them very easy to wash when dinner is over.
Bread
and Butter Pudding.—Butter a tart-dish well and sprinkle some currants all
round it, then lay in a few slices of bread and butter; boil one pint of milk,
pour it on two eggs well whipped, and then on the bread and butter; bake it in a
hot oven for half an hour.
Cream
Cake.—Two cups of sugar, one cup of butter, one cup of sour cream, five eggs,
four cups of flour, one teaspoonful of saleratus.
Keeping
Cider Sweet.—A pint of mustard seed put in a barrel of cider will preserve it
sweet for a number of months. I
have drank fall cider in the month of May which was kept sweet by this means.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 17, 1863, p. 115, c. 1-2
The Fashions.
What to Buy, and How to Make It!
There is a pretty idea current somewhere, that in a spiritual existence
the clothing worn is as much a part of the body as the color on the cheek, the
light in the eye, or the lustre of the hair.
That each garment is an outgrowth of the interior quality—its tints,
hues and texture symbolical of the spirit within.
We do not know why this may not be true; to a certain extent it is true,
notwithstanding all that is said of the absolutism and tyranny of Fashion; for
does not the very slavish obedience to her decrees speak for the natural
tendency to servility and degradation of some souls?
We
find that Dame Fashion is charged with many sins for which she is not
responsible. Does any lady appear
in an unbecoming color, fabric, or style of garment, people do not place the
fault of taste to her account, but to that of Fashion.
They say, "Poor thing, how she looks in that horrid fright;"
but then it is Fashion, and it will not do to say anything.
That may be true, but then it is not the fashion for her unless it is
becoming.
If
Fashion could be reduced to a fixed law, it would soon become a science.
But it is subject to no fixed laws, no cergtain rules, nor, even like the
moon, to pre-ordained changes; its caprices are as fanciful as the movements of
a troop of fairies at one of their moonlight revels.
As the
tergiversations of this same capricious Dame Fashion are regarded with interest
just at this period by the ladies of the Confederacy, we re-publish from "La
(Paris) Follet" the rules laid down by her for the present Fall,
in regard to
["]What to Buy and How to Make It!
The Bonnets.—Bonnets this season are essentially different in many
respects from those worn during the corresponding season last year. The sides are shallower, the capes smaller, and the front
more drooping. The inside trimming
still inclines toward the top of the bonnet, and the crown, generally speaking,
is flat. The cape has been denuded
of its heading, and looks all the better for the loss. The winter and autumnal bonnets are all solid, the
transparent fronts having disappeared with the summer bonnets. No shape that has ever been devised by the teeming brain of a
French modiste equals in grace and beauty the Marie Stuart.
Nothing is so universally becoming.
It is the only shape that it is impossible to vulgarize, and we are glad
to chronicle its re-appearance. Gay
colors are not fashionable. On this
point taste and fashion now coalesce. For
the coming winter black velvet bonnets take the lead; but other colors are not
tabooed. Cuir color is in
high favor, and purple retains its hold on public estimation.
The trimmings are principally formed of feathers and flowers.
Lace, too, enters into these combinations, but more sparingly than we
have seen it used on other occasions.["]
At the
opening of the Fall season in Paris a bonnet was on exhibition which is thus
described by "La Follet:"
["]One,
made of white uncut velvet, bound and lined with the same material in black,
attracted the admiration of every new influx of visitors that from morn till
dusk poured into the establishment. The
strings of broad black ribbon were shaded by overstrings of soft, misty tulle,
full flowing and fluted; a fall of rare Chantilly lace was thrown half across
the bonnet, and on the droop of the crown a roll of velvet was disposed in the
form of a noead, in the center of which nestled a tiny bird of Paradise,
its gay plumage more distinctly seen in contrast with the snowy receptacle in
which it rested, and its sweeping tail feathers of dazzling white falling like a
heron's plume in rigid but not ungraceful lines over the back of the bonnet.
The fall trimming was perfection, one silitary [sic] "red, red
rose" and two half-blown buds, the deep carnation petals bursting through
the vernal sheath, and rose and buds emerging from a bed of green and black
heath over one temple, and in the opposite semicircular nook, peculiar to the
Marie Stuart style, was a fold of velvet and puffings of tulle, forming
something very new and striking.
Close
to the hat we have just described, and dividing the honors with it, was one of
black velvet, trimmed outside and inside with roses glistening with dew, of the
species known as rose de chien. The
cape was divided into three parts, trimmed with a fringe of steel and jet of
novel design, and along the side, crown and brim run a ridge of velvet, arranged
in a manner so peculiar that we despair of giving any idea of it.
Strings pink, overstrings white tulle; face trimming bandeau of white
tulle, black velvet, pink roses, buds and heath.
This hat, as well as others in the same establishment, was shaped a la
Marie Stuart.
While
reading our description of the face trimmings, our readers will do well to bear
in mind that the fashionable shape necessarily divides it into two parts.
By so doing they will be able to form a correct idea of the effect.
In the same establishment were several opera hats, some colorless as
snowflakes, others growing like the deep beauty of a rose.
One composed of tulle fulled lengthwise on the frame, the cape bound with
scarlet velvet, point lace over cape, a tuft of scarlet ostrich feathers on top
embedded in tulle, front trimming a band of scarlet velvet and a heart-shaped
fall of black lace, strings scarlet, and overstrings white tulle, was perfect in
its way. As the scarlet mantles
will be much worn at the Opera, hats designed to be worn with them must be
either unmixed, white or white and scarlet.
Dresses.
In this department we have all the materials of former seasons—silks in all their bewildering variety, moire antiques, cloths, poplins, merinoes, alpacas, ottoman cloths, and a great many anonymous nondescripts. Plaids are candidates for popular favor this season, and we think, from all the indications, that their chances are very fair. They are a very irrepressible style of dress, these same plaids; they are no sooner down than they are up again—a very Celtic characteristic. We have them in merinoes, in cloths and in poplin, and in every variety and combination of colors. Shawls are in great demand, and nothing can be more elegant when gracefully disposed—a very rare gift, by the way, and one for which the Empress Josephine was celebrated.
The Corsage.
There is no one style absolute above all others for the corsage. We have wonderful variety and perfect liberty of choice—all
are equally desirable. The belt
waist still holds its place. There
are many varieties of the pointed waist, and the choice between them is so
puzzling, that it would take a lady of very decided character indeed to enter
into this question of the points. We
will, however, for the benefit of our readers, mention the styles on exhibition
at the 'opening day:'
First,
we have the old fashioned, orthodox single point in the front; then we have the
point front and back; next, the points front, back and sides; then we have two
points in the front and back; then three points in the front—a large central
one and two shorter ones—and then we have these points repeated at the back
and at the sides. Trimmings are
very elaborate, and are placed on every available spot and disposed in every
conceivable way. Velvet is much
used on silks, so is lace, and forms the most elegant and costly of all
trimmings. Ruchings of silk are
also much admired, and braiding and embroidery are universal.["]
Another
very elegant and distingue dress is thus described:
["]
It was an exquisite cerulean blue silk, made with a plain waist and high to the
throat. The peculiarity of this
corsage consisted in this: the sash
was cut out with the waist, and from where the points would have been the sash
fell in graceful fulness [sic] to
the trimming of the skirt. The
skirt was profusely trimmed in a very effective and novel manner.
Three rows of narrow flounces, edged with black lace, extended over
one-half of the breadth; the other half was trimmed with three rows of broad
blue velvet, matching the colors of the dress.
Over all ran an exquisite wreath embroidered in blue silk braid.
The sleeve was the loose coat sleeve, which is the most fashionable of
all the present styles, trimmed with rows of fullings to match the skirt, and
placed on the top of the sleeve in the epaulette style, now so much affected.
The same trimming prevailed in the corsage, and around the neck was a
fulling of lace. Jackets will be
worn of cloth or merino. One which
appears to be the favorite is made a la militaire, with rever [sic?]
collar epaulettes on the coat sleeves and braidings across the front.
The Sleeve.
The coat sleeve is the favorite. It is made loose enough to admit of an under sleeve, and has generally a pointed rever [sic?] for cuff. The trimming is disposed on the outer edge of the sleeve, and consists of quillings of ribbons, velvet, or ruchings of silk. We occasionally get glimpses of the flowing sleeve, but that is all—the coat sleeve is in the ascendant.
The Skirt.
The skirt retains its full flowing amplitude of width, and bids fair to
do so, although the frame work on which it was displayed is dwindling
perceptibly. The immense hoops that
blocked up our sidewalks and cumbered our stages are, we hope and trust,
consigned to the tomb of the Capulets, never to be resuscitated; and in their
place we have the unobtrusive, lady-like Quaker hoop.
The skirt, as we have said before, retains its fulness [sic], and is
trimmed with the utmost prodigality. Flounces,
quillings, passamenterie, embroidery, braiding, separate and combined, attest
the universal rage for decorations. The
"Gabrielle" is a style of dress that cannot be worn by every one with
impunity. It will never be
popular.—Broad bands of velvet, the color of the dress or contrasting colors,
are much used in trimming skirts. They
are placed horizontally, vertically and diagonally; they are arranged crosswise,
lozengewise, en tablier, and with plastrons, a shield-shaped trimming
that is carried up the front of the skirt and continued on the corsage.
Trimming is frequently disposed in undulations and involutions that are
perfect mysteries to the uninitiated.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 17, 1863, p. 117, p. 1-3
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
A Blockade Correspondence.
Edited by Refugitta.
Number 10.
Baltimore, September 29, 1863.
I have
sat down this morning, buoyed up by the promise of my letter's safe convoy
across the Potomac, determined to make amends for the dullness of my last.
This time I will give you fashions with a minuteness of detail worthy of
"Le Follet" or "Le Bon Ton," and on dits with the
pertinacity of that queen of scandal-mongers, Mrs. Grundy herself.
And to
begin, let me ward off the cynical criticism of some chance reader who may scorn
this chapter of femininities, by choosing a text from that ever-to-be-respected,
though Germano-Anglicised, Thomas Carlyle, when, in commencing his 'World in
Clothes,' he says:
'"As
Montesquieu wrote a Spirit of Laws," observes our Professor,
"so could I write a Spirit in clothes;" thus, with an Esprit
des Loix, properly an Esprit de Coutumes, we should have an Esprit
de Costumes. For, neither in
tailoring nor legislating, does man proceed by mere accident, but the hand is
ever guided on by mysterious operations of the mind. In all his modes and habilatory endeavors, an Architectural
Idea will be found lurking; his Body, and the Cloth, are the site and materials
whereon and whereby his beautified edifice of a Person is to be built.
'Again,
what meaning lies in color! From
the soberest drab to the high-flaming scarlet, spiritual idiosyncrasies unfold
themselves in choice of color; if the cut betoken Intellect and Talent, so does
the color betoken Temper and Heart.'
Now,
if you will promise to consider my warming over of Madame Virefolet's novelties,
as an 'Opening of Idiosyncrasies' alone, and her prettiest bonnet an
"Architectural Idea,' I think we can treat them with a dignity which
could give offence to not the most strong minded.
In the
first place, listen to the eloquence of Jenkins of the New York
"Herald," upon the "Opening Day!" 'Yesterday dawned bright and clear, relieving many a mind of
a load of care and anxiety for the success of the great semi-annual event that
keeps the world agog with expectation for weeks beforehand.'
Think of it, ye outcast Confederates!
A whole Yankee world agog with anticipation about new bonnets!
What was the result of Chickamauga compared to it?
Has Rosecranz anything in common with this agitating pique velvet?—Who
cares whether his position is impregnable, provided crinoline stands?
However
that may be, to conclude my long preamble, one delightful fact is certain, and
that is, that Mary Stuart bonnets have returned! Every woman knows how becoming are those drooping fronts,
falling in a graceful point over the part of the hair.
Scarlet and white, strange to say, those two rebel colors, over which our
tyrant Schenk, danced a tarantula of indignation, are introduced largely and
distinctly into the Paris bonnets—and with that imperial stamp, are bought up
in New York. The other fashionable
color, cuir, to my mind indicates truly a very 'queer' sort of taste; it
is a cross between brick-dust and tan—trying to one and every face!
The
prettiest thing I have seen is an opera hat formed of white tulle, fulled over
the frame; the cape bound with scarlet velvet, is covered with point lace.
On top, drooping over the front, a tuft of scarlet ostrich feathers.
It was positively perfection. Plaids,
the irrepressible, have again come in; shawls are more worn than ever; points
are introduced in absurd numbers. At
the back and sides—three points in front, one large, two small—then two
behind and one in front, and, in fact, just as the fancy seizes a lunatic
modiste! The loose coat sleeve is
the most fashionable of all. I have
a light blue silk, made in Paris. The
waist is plain and high, and its peculiarity, that just where the points would
have been the sash is cut out with the waist, and falls to the skirt trimming.
Hair
is the most elaborate of structures! It
is absolutely indispensable to wear it either curled in short bunches above the
temple, or crepe, and puffed into that shape. None is visible behind the ears from a front view, and the
head dress is "Ossa on Pelion piled!"
A very
admirable trans-Atlantic joke has reached us, which will, no doubt, amuse you.
It
seems that Thurlow Weed has written back to the "Times" a
semi-official account of a grand diplomatic success, in which he managed to have
suppressed or withheld, a certain offensive paragraph relative to the Yankee
stone fleet at Charleston harbor, and savouring of recognition to the
Confederates, purporting to be in the Emperor's annual message to the Corps
Legislatif. In his story, he
represents that Dayton and Bigelow, by some means, became aware that the hostile
paragraph was about to be published, and immediately telegraphed post haste to
London, for that mastermind (Weed's) attendance.
Thurlow arrived, lost no time in raking among rusty consular tomes for
facts and precedents. At last, the
trio discovered triumphantly in the treaty of Utrech that France, at the
dictation of Holland and England, had closed the harbor of Dunkirk, and two
years after, had sealed the port with stone barriers.
Hurrah!
cries Mr. Thurlow Weed, and receiving the congratulations of his friends,
flies to mystify the County de Morny with the tale of his discovery.
De Morny doesn't understand in the least what he is driving at, but bows
with mystified politeness. Eureka!
reiterates Thurlow, and forthwith ran to see the Emperor.
Napoleon bowed before the sagacity of Thurlow, and left the paragraph out
of his message. Mr. Diplomat Weed
claps his hands, and writes back to Seward to have his salary raised. Vive Thurlow! especially in his own estimation.
Meantime,
another account comes out, which includes the rebel minister in this creamy
affair. The Yankee correspondent of
the New York paper sys that Louis Napoleon has a hanger-on named Mocquard, a
cats-paw on occasion of petty difficulty, and a general receiver of diplomatic
bribes. This writer states that
Slidell hired Mocquard, with a pocketful of rebel bonds, to get the Emperor to
insert the passage about Charleston Harbor.
Mocquard solemnly promised, and Slidell departed with his tale of good
tidings for the Southrons in Paris, who accordingly sing Dixie all night, and
otherwise rejoice. Dayton and
Bigelow get wind of it, and hence their energetic course, which has been
related. The American Minister
hunts up Mocquard, gives him a good price, and the wary Frenchman reads out the
obnoxious paragraph in very good English, translated from a paper he holds in
his hand. But the best of all is
that this stone fleet paragraph, which Mr. Slidell bribed Mocquard to put into
the Emperor's message, and which Thurlow Weed succeeded in striking out, never
was in the message at all. The
Emperor never had heard of it. Mocquard
invented the whole affair in order to fleece the Northern and Southern
diplomats. Alas, for Mr. Thurlow
Weed! Of all the many taken on that
occasion, his plumes are the worse wilted!—his card-castle the most
decidedly smashed!
Three
years ago, ere yet the civil power in our community was put into subjection by
the sword, we thought ourselves the freest people in the world, and would have
laughed to scorn the advanced opinion of Victor Hugo, that 'France was the
birth-place and the Parisians the nurses of true liberty.'
Now Paris, with its Imperial Ruler, its shackled press, its innumerable gens
d'arms, is free, compared with poor enslaved Baltimore.
Liberty of opinion under Yankee rule!
Pshaw! That is an idea
belonging to past ages. Liberty of
speech! Still less a privilege in the atmosphere where a peaceful
minister of the gospel cannot decline to receive a scholar in the school whose
every other inmate cherished opposing sentiments, without arrest; where a daily
journal dare not publish verses indicative of feeling for the South, without
instant suppression! My only
comfort lies in the 'house divided against itself.'
Still smarting under the escape of Lee's army, they utter bitter
complaints against Rosecranz's too cautious advance, and Dalghren's want of dash
at Charleston. One of the late
witticisms they have gotten off at the expense of the latter is that 'Dupont
damaged the monitors, but damaged Sumter too; while Dalghren does no damage to
the monitors, and no one can see that he damaged anything else!'
Speaking
of bon mots, reminds me of a late effort of that dear old Punch in
connection with us. 'Prognosticating
the exhaustion of the Confederates, a Northern paper says—"The Long Purse
will give us victory." Perhaps
The Long Bow has done it heretofore.' Isn't
that a good thing?
I see
the Republican journals whisper of a withdrawal of the Confederate envoy in
consequence of the position assumed by England. Whatever is the influence of those two tough-headed old
wretches, Palmerston and Russell, against him, I have reason to believe that our
minister reflects no small degree of credit both upon his State and country.
His temperance and dignified endurance of petty slights have elicited
admiration in many quarters.
Enfin,
I have out-scribbled even the limits I allow for your partiality, and, after
all, have left much untold that might interest you. I have been beguiled into hoping that my letter may reach you
before its little froth subsides.
Secessia.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 17, 1863, p. 117, c. 4
The Result of Street Education.
--Keep
your children off the street.
By
that we mean, do not let them make acquaintance on the sidewalks.
If they frequent the public schools, you must establish a sort of verbal
quarantine at your own door, and examine the useful tongue once a day, to see if
it has not a secretion of slang upon it.
Mrs.
Careful's little son Manfred came running into the paternal mansion the other
day, shouting to the cook:--
"No
then, old girl, slap up that dinner."
"Why!
Manfred!" began the astonished mother, "where did you learn
such language? who have you been
playing with?"
"Me,"
said the hopeful, "I generally play with Dick Turner, cause he's a bully
boy with a glass eye. That's
so."
The
fond mother was about to express some astonishment at the optical misfortune of
Dick, when the son continued:
"May,
I'm going to buy a plug! Jem Smith
wears one, and I'm as big as he."
"A
plug!" gasped the mother.
"Yes
sir-ee, a plug. I've got the
spoundulicks salted down in my box, sure; it's bound to come."
The
mother at this juncture, ordered the youngster up stairs, and sent for a man
servant to interpret the slang.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 17, 1863, p. 120, c. 1-3
Summary: Cartoon of lady chicken seller/boarding house keeper, commenting
on long-legged, long-necked chickens
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 17, 1863, p. 120, c. 3
Housewife's Department.
Beefsteak Pudding.—Prepare a good crust, as for a fruit pudding.
Take beefsteak cut in small pieces, a few slices of very nice salt pork,
season with pepper, salt, summer savory, and a small piece of onion, if fancied;
dust flour in your meat, put the crust in the cloth, the meat in the crust, tie
tightly, and boil three hours or a little more.
When cut open, pour in a little melted butter.
A very little experience will teach any one to make this pudding, and to
those who are in the habit of broiling or frying steak, it will soon commend
itself for the saving.
To
Keep Muslins of a Good Color.—Never wash muslins or any kind of white cotton
goods with linen; for the latter deposits or discharges a gum and coloring
matter every time it is washed, which discolors and dyes the cotton.—Wash them
by themselves.
Fried
Sweet Corn.—Cut tender corn on the cob. Put
it in a pan, and add sufficient water to moisten it, a little salt and butter,
and fry to the liking.
German
Toast.—Two eggs, one pint of milk, and flour enough to make a thick batter,
cut wheat bread into very thin slices, and soak them in sweetened water; cover
each side successively with the batter, and fry brown in lard.—Eat while hot,
with butter and white powdered or brown sugar.
Fever
Draught.—Boil an ounce and a half o tamarinds, three ounces of currants, two
of stoned raisins, in three pints of water.
Boil them down one third and strain them.
Ginger
Snaps.—Two cups of molasses, one of lard, a tablespoon of ginger, a tablespoon
of saleratus, dissolved in as little hot water as possible; flour; roll very
thin.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 17, 1863, p. 120, c. 4
The Best Yet
Published!
The
Confederate Spelling Book!
12 mo., 160 pp. Price $1.50.
Three Editions Since May Last!
Also,
The Confederate Primmer! [sic]
32 pages. Price 25 cents.
The Confederate Rhyming Primmer! [sic]
24 pages. Price 35 cents.
Smith's English
Grammar!
Revised and improved, and adapted to the use of schools in
the Confederate States. 12mo., 200
pp. Price $2.
A liberal discount to the trade
Address
Geo. L. Bidgood, Publisher,
161 Main st., Richmond, Va.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 24, 1863, p. 125, p. 1-2
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
A Blockade Correspondence.
Edited by Refugitta.
Number 11.
Richmond, September, 1863.
The
equinoctial gales have blustered by, and with the true character of this varying
clime, Jack Frost has made his appearance at least a month before we had any
reason to expect him. Only a slight
visitation, however, enough to tinge, with a deeper blush, the blooming flowers,
to ripen the chinquapens, and make palatable the rich purple clusters of fox
grapes, hanging high on the vine that climbs up to clasp its green flowery arms
around the stems of the tallest pine tree.
Golden-rod and the scarlet cardinal embroider the swamps; pokeberry and
sumach mingle their deep red tints in the hedge rows; corn fields glow goldenly
in the mid-day sunshine; and the garden beauties open the depths of their
gorgeous breasts and unfurl their flaunting banners gaily to the winds, laden
with the fragrance of dying nature. Beautiful
Autumn! Beautiful Queen of the
Year! Where is the cold heart that
withholds from thee its homage?
Nearly
three years now since the election of the King of the Chimpanzees to rule over
the Republic once glorified by the leadership of a Washington; since the act of
a usurping party annihilated our national rights, and sent the stars upon our
banner
"Driven apart, and dimmed with blood;"
and since our little cluster of rebellious States banded together, to defy not
only great Yankeedoodledom, but the aid or opposition of a universe!
And,
as yet, the shadows are not lifted—the bow of peace is yet hidden in the gloom
that hangs, pall-like, between us and our goal!—We have passed through the
bath of fire—have been tried in the crucible of affliction, national and
domestic—and, thank God, have come out purified!—purified of the selfish
indolence that for years has girt with its ever-increasing web, the limbs of our
slumbering South; of the dependence that has paralyzed our energies, and overrun
our land with the evil tares of Yankee despotism and fanatic rule; of the
effect, too sadly visible, of a damning influence at the core of our most
cherished institutions—of the great Circean spell, in fine, that for years has
lulled our every sense into sloth and forgetfulness of duty to ourselves.
Yes,
we have defied the world! That is a
proud heritage for our worn, bleeding, and despoiled old Mother to bequeath to
future time. And with all the
suffering I have had, with the recollection of the bitterest tears wrung from my
eyes that my youth has ever known, I glory to have been born in the zenith of my
country's fame; I glory to have lived and grown up with a race of heroes; I
glory to have seen the established might of the land and people I love with the
strength of my being!
And
now, since you have professed an interest in the 'severely practical' part of
our Confederacy life—and I am trying to paint you not only the gay scenes of a
Capital-city in war times—let me give you an idea of the great 'Sorghum'
question, of which I formerly spoke, and which is now agitating the farmers of
Virginia.
In
some of the counties, as yet unharmed by invasion, the early essays in this
product have proved successful in the extreme.
The average of a very mediocre crop is one hundred gallons of the
molasses to an acre, but with cultivation the same ground will easily give two
hundred gallons. The mills, such as
I have seen, are of the most simple description; two or three cylinders, as the
case may be, worked by a single mule, and with the need of but two hands, a
driver and a boy to strip the cane and cut the tops.
The juice, as it pours out freely, is light green in color, and cloying
in excessive sweetness. This is
never allowed to stand, but is boiled down immediately, in boilers placed in a
rude kiln. A few hours brings the
syrup, to which, without hesitation, I award the palm over any I have ever seen.
The
simplicity of this process, of course, rendering it feasible to all, there is
another point of recommendation, to which, I am sorry to say, too few can turn
an unheeding ear; the gain thereby accrued!
Taking it for granted that the molasses is sold in the Richmond market,
it brings $12.00 per gallon, thus clearly making $2,500 off each acre of cane.
Put this in contrast with the paltry sale of wheat, and the incentive to
the culture of Sorghum must be immense. Even
in case of its decrease in price it must always have the precedence over grain
in point of benefit to the planter.
The
cotton, too, seems to have succeeded quite well, though somewhat retarded by the
unfortuitous coquetry of the past summer weather. For the present it is only picked by hand, and carded and
spun by servants for their own clothes, and even that is somewhat of an
advancement in Virginia; but I have seen a great many beautiful fabrics of
homespun, made from the bales of spun-cotton, and wool, that well made and
trimmed, could scarcely be distinguished from the English goods so popular of
late years for out-door dress and gentlemen's morning suits.
So, nous
voila! Armed and equipped,
cap-a-pie, with the first fruits of Southern industry!
I must confess, that when one reflects upon the moderate price of
shoes--$60 for a presentable pair of walking-boots, as demanded in Richmond
stores—it seems highly probable that unless some soul stirs its energetic
stumps in our behalf, another winter will find us wandering with Eve-like feet;
which fashion, though highly picturesque and poetical, is unpleasantly
suggestive of chaps and chilblains, not to speak of rheumatism in the
back-ground. Won't some good
Samaritan pierce through the Cimmerian blackness that envelopes this question,
and pour oil upon the troubled waters of an anxious heart?
On the
subject of bonnets, there is more composure—in fact, in the language of the
market reports, 'bonnets are firm, shoes unsteady.' There is an undeniable consolation in the though, that out of
the stores of past finery and defunct ball-dresses, one can always find a
ribbon, lace, or flower, with which to adorn this most important item of female
attire.
There
is a female frailty, to which I must plead guilty:
that of gloomy dissatisfaction upon coming down the church aisle some
bright fall Sunday, to see the old straws and silks reproduced, with a trimming
that you remember to have seen round the hem of Miss Such-a-One's skirt, at the
White Sulphur Springs, about the time of the Flood! And those ancient roses, that ought to have gone to deck the
woolly front of Aunt Chloe, months ago, are actually resurrected, and as
artfully disposed under a black lace barbe on Miss Blank's hat, as if
they were born yesterday in a Paris workroom!
Will Mrs. This's black silk sacque never die a natural death?
How can Mrs. That's everlasting blue have the face to show itself another
season? etc. etc.
We
don't pretend to be superior to human weaknesses, and I have the pleasant
consciousness, on joining the throng that pours up Grace street from the Church
door, that all of my neighbors are indulging in the agreeable little wonderings
over the antiquity of my costume, that characterize my own meditation in the
rear of somebody else.
It
would be a good thing in this world if we could remember that 'somebody else' is
always walking behind us, wouldn't it?
A ring!—Here comes our friend, the 'underground,' in hot haste for
dispatches. Remember, you are in my
debt for a letter, which consciousness will disarm criticism from my present
practical profusion.
Florence.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 24, 1863, p. 128, c. 1-3
Summary: Cartoon of Captain Cascable of the Artillery, on furlough in the
city, who has used the can used for making tea, for making shaving lather
instead. Scraggs informs him that he always makes the tea first, then the
lather, or else the tea will be soapy.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 24, 1863, p. 128, c. 2
Housewife's Department.
Arrowroot Blancmange.—Two and a half spoonsful of pure Jamaica
arrowroot, a quart of milk, a large spoonful of crushed sugar, a spoonful of
rose-water, and a little salt. Reserve
a gill of milk to wet the arrowroot, and boil the rest.
When it boils up, stir in the arrowroot, and boil it up again a minute or
two; add the sugar, salt and rose-water, and put it into the mould.
Hard
Tea Biscuit.—Two pounds of flour, a quarter of a pound of butter, a
salt-spoonful of salt, three gills of milk.
Cut up the butter, and rub it into the flour; then add the salt and milk.
Knead the dough for half an hour; make it into cakes about as large round
as half a teacup, and half an inch thick. Prick
them with a fork; bake them in a moderate oven until they are light brown.
Boiled
Custard.—Beat, very light, five eggs; place one quart of milk over the fire,
and when it comes to a boil, take it off the fire and when it comes to a boil,
take it off the fire and stir in your eggs; season with whatever essence you
prefer, and let it again come to a boil.
To
Pickle Cucumbers.—Trim and wash them in salt and water, drain and put them
into the bottles, add a little mace, cloves capsicum and mustard seed, then
cover them with white vinegar nearly boiling hot; cork immediately.
Cabinet
Pudding.—Boil one pint of milk, with a piece of lemon-peel, pour it on one
ounce of sponge biscuit, let it soak half an hour, then add three eggs, half an
ounce of currants, and a very little sugar; steam it in a buttered mould, lined
with raisins, one hour.
Making
Vinegar.—Fill a large glass bottle with weak tea, which may be what is left
after drinking. Add a small
quantity of sugar or molasses, and set them in a warm place—say in a window
where the sun shines. In a
fortnight it will be fit for use, and is as good as cider vinegar.
To
Cure Hoarseness.—Take the whites of two eggs and beat them with two spoonsful
of white sugar; grate in a little nutmeg; then add a pint of lukewarm water.
Stir well, and drink often. Repeat
the prescription, if necessary, and it will cure the most obstinate case of
hoarseness in a short time.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 24, 1863, p. 128, c. 4
Summary: Ready to-day—the Second
Year of the War, by E. A. Pollard, price $5.00; West & Johnston, Publishers
and Booksellers, Richmond.
Mourning Paper.—Black-bordered Letter and Note Paper for sale cheap at West
& Johnston.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 24, 1863, p. 128, c. 3
The Fashions.
We make some additional extracts from "Le Follet," in
regard to the Fall and Winter fashions, which will be found interesting to our
numerous lady readers, particularly that portion relating to Bridal and Party
Dresses:
"It
is thought very probable that tight fitting jacket bodies will be worn again
towards the winter, the different vestes that have appeared this year and last
have prepared us for the resuscitation of this becoming style.
Should jackets indeed return, they will not be made in any habille
material—such as silks, satins, moires, or velvets—but will be confined to
more homely wear. If they are
re-introduced, it will be principally to wear with colored sacks in place of the
white bodies now used for that purpose. There
is no sensible alteration in the form of mantle for next month:
paletots, collets, or casaques being still worn without any great
difference of shape or style, excepting that they are a little shorter.
Shawls
are now worn by the Parisian ladies fastened at the throat by a brooch, and not
hanging loosely on the shoulders as formerly.
There seems no danger of bonnets resuming their high and pointed form;
they are still narrow at the sides, but flatter on the top than formerly, and do
not come so far on the head. It is
impossible to describe the endless variety of hats now worn; the most elegant
and aristocratic have a rather broad brim and a bunch of feathers placed high in
the front.
Caps
are mostly made of black and white lace, with a loose crown, and generally have
a Marie Stuart point in front.
Fancy
aprons are likely to become very fashionable for home wear; they will be quite
small, and gathered or plaited into a very narrow compass at the wrist. [sic?]
Among
the toilettes we have seen we select the following for description:
The first was a bridal dress. An
underskirt of rich white silk, with chicoree ruche of the same round the bottom.
Over this was a skirt of white gaze de sole, with flounce of English lace
reaching to the top of the ruche of the underskirt; above the flounce, which was
about twelve inches deep, were three rows of festooned and interlaced ruches of
gaze de sole. A low white silk
body, with gauze pelerine, crossed in front and trimmed round with a ruche.
The sleeves were open at the back, rather small, and trimmed with a ruche
and frill of lace. The veil of gaze de sole was fastened at the top of the head,
under the wreath, and did not fall over the face. The following toilette was intended for a married sister of
the bride. The dress was of white
gros-grain silk, with small pompadour bunches of apple blossoms; the skirt was
cut in waves, and a flounce, about twelve inches wide, but so as to be waved top
and bottom. At each edge of the
flounce was a ruche de coupee of pale pine silk. The body was square and trimmed with a ruche, and the
sleeves, which were open at the back, to correspond.
A white Yak lace shawl. White
tulle bonnet, Marie Stuart form, with pink and white marabout feather falling
over the cap; a ruche of pink inside the bonnet, at the sides.
With this were worn white boots with pink heels and laces.
We saw
a dress, intended for a soiree dansante, of white silk. Over this was a gored tunic of white tarlatane, with pink
stars. This tunic, which was about
seven inches shorter than the silk skirt, had two gores of black lace, about an
inch, placed so as to have a heading each way.—The low body was of white silk;
over it was a pelerine, crossed in front, and trimmed like the skirt.
The sleeves were half long, and buffantes.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, October 31, 1863, p. 133, c. 2
The Fashions.
Fashions for Winter.
From the 'Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine' for October, we take the
following: 'Winter fashions are
being created and decided upon in the recesses of fashionable dressmakers' and
milliners' repositories, but the autumn fashions are best to be admired on the
shore at Biarritz or Trouville.
Two
things strike one as particularly novel in ladies' costumes at Trouville; first,
the very pretty chamois colored leather boots, coming half way up the leg and
either buttoned or laced at the side, the tops being ornamented with a silk cord
and two small tassels; and, secondly, the cannis, or, in plain English,
walking sticks, sported by the most elegant among the votaries of fashion.
These
canes are simple wooden sticks, more or less carved and ornamented, with flat
gilt tops, and finished off, like the boots, with a cord and tassel.
It is to be hoped that these novelties in female attire will not be
admitted in town; they are all very well to climb rocks with, or to walk in the
deep, soft sand, so tiring to the feet, but they would be quite absurd in the
streets or in the parks. This is, however, no reason why they should be condemned by
Fashion, since wisdom is so very rarely consulted in her decisions.
Another
thing which rather astonishes us is to see how very much jewels are now being
worn even in out-of-door dress. The
style in vogue is the Oriental—crescents, large round sequins and long
drooping ornaments being preferred.
Very
large earrings, brooches, clasps and studs are worn to match, in dimensions
hitherto unheard of, and either in plain gold or in gold and coral, or enamel.
These jewels, being but a passing whim of fashion, need not be of the
purest gold or precious gems. Even
French ladies, who have always been very particular on this point, now wear
imitation jewels without the least scruple.
Combs
for the hair now come within the sphere of jewels.
They are made with a wide, flat piece, turned back from the teeth, and
composing a very rich ornament, set with gold and precious stones.
These combs are worn in the back hair.
Smaller ones are also sometimes used to keep back the hair in front.
Necklaces
of very thick chains have become indispensable with a low dress and are also
worn with the high chemisettes and Swiss bodices. The large round jet or coral beads are preferred for demi-toilette,
and married ladies often wear the thick gold chain.
Crinolines
still hold their own, but in Paris they are decidedly being worn much smaller,
especially at the top; they are less round, and consequently more graceful in
their appearance.
The
skirts of dresses are likely to be very full and immensely long.
Imperial War Against Tight-Fitting Corsets in France.
The "Lady's (London) Newspaper" for September, says:
The
unusual heat of this month has, along with the efforts of the Countess De
Castiglione, caused a salutary change in the fashions.
Stays, for the present are thrown aside and replaced by the more becoming
cienture suisse. Neither
does a tight body form an indispensable portion of a lady's dress.
It is replaced by a loose one of white muslin or coarse linen, worked in
imitation of the bodies worn by the peasants of the Romagna.
Loose silk jackets are also greatly worn.
It is
possible that this style of dress will continue in fashion, the doctors of the
Empress having advised her majesty to imitate the style of dress recently
adopted by Madame De Castiglione, who, like nearly all her countrywomen, holds
pinched waists in aversion, and whatever mistakes she may make in other matters,
has the good sense to believe that stays must produce a red nose or a sallow
complexion.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 7, 1863, p. 141, c. 1-2
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
A Blockade Correspondence.
Edited by Refugitta.
Number 12.
Baltimore, October, 1863.
Sip
your Confederate coffee, Florence, wear home-spun, turn your last year's dresses
upside down, inside out—even look forward to the possible contingency of
shuffling about in the sabots of the French paysanne—rather than, like me,
wear purple and fine linen, and endure the crucifixion of the soul that falls to
the daily lot of suffering Baltimore. Closer
and closer falls the deepening veil; heavier still grow the gyves [sic?] that
eat like a gangrene into our patriotic limbs.
Ah! let your tears fall like
rain over the graves of your early lost! but
think of us mourning here, with never a grave to claim the homage of our
maddening grief!
Come,
let us be gay awhile! I have just
laid down a package of your letters, which, without great compliment to your
epistolary powers, I must tell you, have been worn into skeleton leaves by
constant use. I am well known by
the Secessionists here to be the favored recipient of southern correspondence,
and when it is whispered abroad that a letter has come, for several days
afterwards I am besieged with applications to read, or allow to be read, the
precious missive; in fact, I think of hiring a lecture-room or hall for the
purpose of gratifying all the eager souls.
Poor creatures! Sometimes it
wrings my heart to see a mother turn away disappointed at hearing no word of
tidings from her darling, far off in the tented fields of the warlike Old
Dominion. It is positively sickening to wait—wait as we do—for a
word of cheer. Occasionally
somebody holds a meek little tea-gathering, where ladies meet in defiance of
masculine charms. Conceive of the
change in our gay Baltimore! Society
(I mean the upper crust of our remarkable social structure) is made up of truly
strange elements. Women who, three
winters ago, would have served upon their parvenu tables a daily dish of toads,
(and eaten them too with a relish!) to obtain a foothold in a few drawing-rooms
upon _____ street, now toss defiance from their gilded coaches at the poor,
plainly-dressed rebels, who are content to tramp wearily on in the dust of their
patrician wheels. The wheel of
capricious Fortune has revolved and left us 'small by degrees, and beautifully
less'-er luminaries in the firmament of Fashion. Of course, you remember Madame B_____, the much-talked-of?
She is high in power now, wielding, it is said, a flower-wreathed want
over the docile neck of General _____, one of our most grinding taskmasters.
Not long ago, a very severe sentence was passed upon some Union sufferer.
Every effort to mitigate it had proved futile, when Mrs. _____, a lady
with a heritage of proud Southern blood, resolved to make a personal appeal
through the medium of this new Delilah. Madame
received her, in the well-known petit boudoir, with frigid politeness—started
with well-feigned surprise at the suspicion of mediatorship as a thing
possible—waived the whole affair decidedly, and the lady retired in some
discomfiture. Strange to say, however, on the next day, the rigor of the
sentence was repealed, and the Southerners blessed, in homely phrase, the bridge
that had conveyed them over the water. Two
other women have dawned as stars of the first magnitude in Union annals, both of
them developing detective qualities that would do credit to a Bow-street
officer, or even a Vidocq. Let all
unfortunate disloyalists beware; for to escape the persuasive Scylla of one, is
to be wrecked on the relentless Charybdis of the other.
Really, as one admires the great criminal facility of the Brinvilliers,
or the magnificent vindictiveness of a Bloody Mary, one is led to regard with
almost applause this unusual spirit, which, like the Phoenix, springing once in
a century, arises to animate the female breast.
Mrs. P_____ is too well remembered by you to need further comment.
I wonder if she ever pauses to recall the source from which is derived
the present mass of capital with which she has paved her way into Union good
graces. The other, Mrs. G_____, is
a quondam Virginia belle, high-bred and charming, to external view, and, from
the nature of her connection with various leading families, having peculiar
facilities for carrying on her work. With
the perseverance of a ferret and the venom of a serpent, this person contrives
to make her labors tell against the [illegible] of the South.
Many a precious letter—longed for—prayed for—through bitter,
blinding tears, has, through her lady-like intervening, been consigned to the
harpy claws of a remorseless governmental underling—many a home blackened
forever by her Upas-like influence! The first mentioned of this distinguished pair is, I forgot
to say, the creature who has called down the contemptuous ridicule of the
English press upon her performance of planting the Union flag before the dying
eyes of a Confederate prisoner,
with the speech, "Well, if you refused to live under this flag, you can't
help dying under it!"
We
have some few diversions, such as, for instance, the German opera, introduced
here by Carl Anshutz. The singers
are of an excellent, thorough school, but they naturally lack the fire of those
warm sunny-voiced Italians, whose music dances forth like the flow of sparkling
champagne. Imagine the incongruity
of the role of Martha (in which I so well recall bright little Adelina Patti)
played by a squat Fraulein with high cheek bones and muddy hair, over whom the
most enamored of tenors could not get up the wail of "M'appari."
It fills me with grief to revisit that scene of so many enchanting
gatherings of our young people before the war!
Thank Heaven, there is a balm in the strains of a melody, that
"Seems to go right up to Heaven, and die amid the stars,"
which soothes me inexpressibly. It is a world of delight, in which I revel like a lotus
eater, while
"A feeling of sadness comes o'er me,
That is not akin to pain,
But resembles sorrow only
As mist resembles rain."
I
wrote you once of Schenk's demolition of the Maryland Club. In the last few days, Don Piatt, the mighty man of valor, has
given his permission to allow some one, accompanied by a faithful Union
Cerberus, (they keep any number of these toothless curs tied up at street
corners to intimidate by growling and to do all dirty work!) to enter the
long-closed building. Such a scene
of destruction and desolation as it presented!
All the fine old wines, every bottle of which had been in its straw
cradle before the first man of these mushroom scions dared allude to his
great-grandfather in polite society, was carried off to adorn the orgies of a
brutal set of Yankee guards. Worse
still, the noble libraries were torn, defaced, rat-gnawed, strewn about on the
floor, wrecked in fine, at the mercies of a Lincoln literati; silver and plate
were, of course, to memory dear, and the honored old club books, dust-encased
and moth-eaten, with their record of stainless Southern names, remained alone
unharmed, amid surrounding chaos.
Oh!
if the legions of indignant rebels, who were ever proud to claim part in
this ancient hall, could have risen up, then and there, to wipe off the insult!
But,
under Heaven, I do not fear! Our
day is coming yet. Dim and awful,
in the clouds of Futurity, stalks a ghastly Nemisis, clothed with the smoke of
burning homesteads, crowned with the blood of a martyred myriad, linked with the
chains she has proudly riven asunder, echoing with
widowed groans, and moistened by orphans' tears—onward, resistlessly
onward, swiftly, and oh! how sure!
Do you
remember the blasphemous "Address," in which Garibaldi calls Abraham
Lincoln "the inheritor of Christ's and Brown's idea, and the pilot of
liberty?" Do you fear for its
ultimate doom, when the Yankee nation has put such a head at its fore?
Let us bide our time, and while, in the eyes of a God-forsaken fanatic,
America goes on to "astonish the world with her gigantic daring," let
us humbly pray and strive for the end to come!
New
York—in fact, Yankee-doodledom—has a new toy!
A Russian fleet and a gang of unpronouncable hirsute officers have been taken in tow by that venerable bear
leader, Admiral Farragut, and paraded (the officers, I mean, not fleet) through
the fashionable museums of the great city, where, so short a time before, a few
fishy-eyed, pig-tailed Japanese monkeys held their present honorable post.
Poor "champions of liberty!"
Poor "supporters of a glorious, undefiled Union!"
Is not that great puppet, the war, whose strings are pulled in the
Cimmerian secresy of a Washington cabinet, enough to occupy your dear young
sportive minds? It is whispered
that the Monumental City is soon to be similarly honored.
[Illegible]
since, we entertained, in our midst, Mr. G. B. Lawrence, the very clever and
well-behaved author of "Guy Livingstone." You have, of course, heard of his capture in attempting to
cross the Potomac to visit the land of his sympathy—the South.
Upon being consigned to a Washington
prison, his sufferings from disease of mind and body were so great as to
seriously affect his previously vigorous health, and, after eight weeks'
imprisonment, he returned to England, under promise not to revisit the
"United" States during the time of the so-called rebellion.
He has
since published a volume, called "Border and Bastille," of which
critics speak most favorably. It is
said to be completely free from the "muscular" affectations of his
previous works, and his personal narrative revealing none of the fast
characteristics of his favorite heroes.
How I
have scribbled on! Longfellow
somewhere says, "The pen with which I write best is a feather plucked from
the wing of Night." Whether to
apply that or not, my modesty does not assist me, but it has, at least, added
speed to my last, well-nigh illegible, lines—two o'clock having long since
sounded.
Good night.
Secessia.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 7, 1863, p. 144, c. 1-4
Summary: Cartoon of two boots, labeled Longstreet and Bragg, kicking
Rosecranz back into Chattanooga. Title: Cause of Rosecranz's
Supercedure! Wording: Rosecranz's Address to His Soldiers:
"We have fought the Battle of Chickamauga to gain our position at
Chattanooga, AND HERE WE ARE!!!"
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 7, 1863, p. 144, c. 4
Summary: New Songs—Southern
Soldier Boy, as sung in "Virginia Cavalier" by Miss Sallie Partington.
Words by Capt. G. W. Alexander, Air:
The Boy with the Auburn Hair.
Who will Care for Mother Now?; poetry by C. C. Sawyer, music by C. F. Thompson
In the Press—C.S.A. Improved Hunten's Instructions for the Piano Forte; also
new ballad "Farewell Enchanting Hope" by Lessing.
Published by Geo. Dunn & Co., Richmond, VA and Julian A. Selby,
Columbia, SC.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 14, 1863, p. 149, c. 1-2
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
A Blockade Correspondence.
Edited by Refugitta.
Number 13.
Richmond, Nov. 2, 1863.
I
really don't know whether or not to thank you for the letter now lying before
me. It is so tantalizing, that I am
afraid the effect is rather bad than otherwise upon my ill-regulated brain:
Visions of the opera, white gloves and black baton, of Charles
street illuminated by the radiance of pretty faces in fall bonnets, of a library
table crowded with Blackwood, Littell, the Cornhill, the Eclectic, and all those
pleasant-faced, uncut paper companions, that have, in course of time, gradually
faded from my mind, swarm with redoubled vigour.
I have determined never to go to a menagerie again, and hold out
ginger-nuts to the monkeys behind their bars—that high moral resolution, would
will concede, is at least one good consequence of my destitute state.
Looking
out at the seductive prospect you have spread, I seem a second Prisoner of
Chillon,
"I felt troubled—and would fain
I had not left my recent chain;
And when I did descend again
The darkness of my dim abode
Fell on me as a heavy load."
Is not that a heart-rending delineation, as applied to Confederate woe?
You will see that, at any rate, we still manage to regard our
"living grave" as very respectable sort of interment, and I might,
with more truth, go on to say—
"My very chains and I grew friends—
So much a long communion tends
To make us what we are-------"
I am
ashamed of myself for even, in jest, giving vent to such unnecessary murmurs.
Really, if you could see for yourself, our beautiful city, on one of
these glad Autumn mornings, I am sure the presence of grim-visaged war would not
seem so very appalling. How
gorgeously the trees, keeping watch through our streets, throw out their panoply
of gold and red, swaying their long arms to scatter a shower like that of Danae
over every passing head! Each of
the trim little gardens, behind its iron gate, (for that addition is a thing of
course in Richmond,) blazes with the mingled glory of late roses deeper in tint,
richer in scent than before, starry white chrysanthemums, and dahlias like mimic
suns in crimson, royal purple and gold. The
very wind, leaping up with assumed bluster to meet the onslaught of Winter,
seems borne down with life-giving strength—renewing force.
In such weather, existence is an ecstasy—depression a myth!
Ah! such glorious gallops as
I have had, mounted on a fleet-footed courser, and bounding through
forest-lanes, while the air sweeps keenly about me, tingling through my whole
frame, and awaking in every sense an exuberance of health and power to enjoy,
that flings care to the breeze, and bids me but live in the vital present!
Give me no better conception of the fabled spring, where the ancients
sought eternal youth!
Now
that our friend, the Yankee Jump-Jack, Meade, has sat down to ruminate upon the
laurels of his late glorious retreat, the haunts of Richmond (rendezvous in
general, and 'hub' of the Confederacy, to apply Holmes'
Boston simile,) are again peopled with the stars, bars, scrolls and other
gilt adornments of our gallant officers. Whether
it is that the heart of woman, as hath been averred, is peculiarly awake to the
extrinsic glitter of military garb, (a slander which I here indignantly
repudiate, in the name of my sex,) or whether the perilous position of our
soldiers, induces on the part of their female acquaintances, a curious and
abnormal soft-heartedness, I do not know; but certain it is, that never in the
past annals of our State has the saffron torch illumined so many familiar names
in quick succession.—Well, chacun a son gout, assuredly!
it would perhaps, be unbecoming and suspicious, at my antiquity, to
inveigh against the matrimonial proclivities of my young friends.
But I cannot retain an expression of amazement at the self-denial thus
indicated by the poor misguided creatures; I believe the councils of their
country have already eulogized their unselfish devotion to the wants of our
'brave defenders;' I think an especial clause ought to be inserted, appreciating
the remarkable alacrity in martyrizing themselves under the hymeneal yoke, for
the benefit of the same sufferers! For what will you say to a blue-nosed wedding at five o'clock
in the morning, sans veil, sans bridesmaids, sans everything, indeed, but a few
sleepy lookers-on, who are wishing the couple safely through it, and themselves
back in bed again! That is
according to the rule in Richmond.—And as to bridal tours, their limits have
gradually narrowed down, until one is quite satisfied with an enlivening journey
on the 'raging canawl,' up to the second lock and back again; or else an
excursion on the Schultz to Drury's Bluff, with the thrilling accessories of a
scramble over the sand pits, there on exhibition, and information as to the
calibre of those interesting guns! You
may imagine the feasibility of a trousseau, when I tell you that a milliner down
town lately produced some ordinary bonnets, made from 'other side' patterns, at
the moderate price of $500 each; that a dress of coarsest woolen stuff cannot be
obtained under $150; that boots and slippers 'rise' daily—in fact, the
peculiarity last mentioned, is so very prevalent among the Richmond
shop-keepers, that I shall not be surprised, if some fine morning, they and
their wares take flight altogether, and the places that (to their sorrow!) know
them, shall know them no more!
The
last excitement in our circles is the institution of the Starvation Club, a
jovial place of re-union, where the Attic salt figures largely in lieu of Mr.
Pizzini's now impracticable contributions.
This, with water from the Pierian spring, is found to be an admirable
substitution, at our feasts of reason; indeed, I don't see why one shouldn't be
satisfied with a bill of fare like this, for instance:
1st
Course. Roti de Coeur de Jeune
Homme, garni de soupirs desesperes. Sauce,
au naturel, (of which, I am sorry to say, there is no lack.)
2.
Pate de Bon-mots, (warmed over generally,) with condiments added at will.
3.
Legumes quelquefois glaces, souvent verts, toujours en abondance.
4.
Epergne de 'Dandy Lion,' et "Coxcomb,' imported espres.
5.
Literary Wax Lights.
6.
Un joli petit kickshaw de sourires—not souris—a la Vicksburg.
7.
Pyramid—of vows, not made by any known confectioner.
8.
Entree—d'une belle jeune demoiselle.
9.
Trifles—a cosmopolitan dish.
10.
Remove—of chairs and tables when the dancing begins, and so on to the
end of the chapter.
I am
confident this banquet of soul has an attraction even for you.
I can vouch for it being a truthful transcript, as reported by our
special. And now, good-bye,
melancholy starling.
Florence.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 14, 1863, p. 152, c. 4
Book of
Instruction
for the
Piano Forte.
On Friday next, the 6th instant, will be
published: Part 1, of the C. S. A.,
improved "Hunten's Book of Instruction for the Piano-Forte."
Price $3.00
This part, elegantly printed in Lithography, on good paper, contains the usual
instructions to learners, together with eight pages of scales and exercises,
marked for fingering.
Part 2d, completing the work, will follow in about three weeks, and comprise
lessons and studies for advanced pupils.
Terms:
One third off to the trade and half this allowance to schools and
teachers ordering ten parts. Cash or check to accompany all orders.
Geo. Dunn & Co.,
Richmond, Va.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 21, 1863, p. 1160, c. 1-3. Includes illustration of promenade costume and boy's dress, which is based on a Zouave outfit
Latest Fashions
for November.
What to Buy and How to Make It.
From the November issues of the French and English Periodical Press, which we have just received, we gather some interesting particulars in regard to the latest Fashions for November. Ladies silks this autumn are represented to be so enormously high in price that only those who have well-filled purses have the courage to purchase. Fifty cents per yard is the advance on most silks. The advance on some is even greater. But merinos, poplins, alpacas, and many other woolen materials, now come of such fine quality, and in such exquisite shades, that they really leave but little to be desired in the way of silks. An English paper remarks that a black silk dress is a valuable addition to any lady's wardrobe; but few of us are willing to pay $2.25 a yard for what we used to obtain for $1.75—and so on through the whole scale of prices.
In the Way of Making Ordinary Dresses,
There is absolutely nothing new to chronicle; all efforts seem to be directed to the trimming of the skirts. The most fashionable style is decidedly the gored skirt, with trimming upon each breadth. Sometimes it consists of a simple cording, either a precise match or a decided contrast in color to the material; sometimes black lace, lined with white, placed in zigzags up the seams; while others have wide box plaitings, of a contrary color, upon each breadth. As for the trimmings, which are arranged round the bottom of skirts, there is no end to the variety—no two dressmakers trim in the same style. The newest are the chenille fringes, which are difficult to obtain; and, when obtained, are very costly. The box plaited flounces are decidedly the most popular. The ready-made skirts of mohair or alpaca of an undecided cloudy shade are mostly arranged with three narrow flounces, bound at each side with bright blue, mauve, or green silk. They are ferited [sic?] on with a heading, and the roll which conceals the stitching is of the same color as the binding. Moire antiques are likewise trimmed with box plaited black or white lace flowers. In these cases the flounces are narrow rather than wide, and are arranged with the plaits wide apart, so that the pattern of the lace may be seen. The other trimmings, as before remarked, are various: ruches placed in the form of the three sides of a square; black lace over white silk, placed in festoons, fastened together with a box and long ends, all described by the trimming, which is laid flat on the skirt, lozenges, in either black velvet or silk; interlaced rings made of ruches of two colors, placed at each breadth; rows of black lace flowers and leaves; the silk girdle-cord twirled and festooned; these, and a variety of other ornaments, are all used for the skirts of dresses.
But Tyranny of Fashion
Exists no longer; a lady can dress herself according to her own individual taste; she can choose her colors to suit her complexion and the shade of her hair; her dress can be cut in accordance with the style of her figure, and, provided her toilette is selected with taste, she will be found fashionable.
In the Way of Bodices,
Pretty, slight figures do well to adopt the sash,
especially if it be a long one, for the wide sashes shorten the figure.—Short,
dumpy figures should, on the contrary, adopt the bodice with the lancers' basque
at the back, and with two small points in the front. Young married ladies adopt the cheraise russe in white
foulard, embroidered with silk and finished off with the hussar sash, which is
newer than the Swiss band.
Many
ladies, as if tired with the excess of trimming lately disposed over all their
dresses, wear now no trimming at all, their dresses being made quite plain, but
with an immense train, the skirts and bodices being entirely unornamented.
The General Style of Cutting
Both morning and dressing gowns is [sic] now in one piece;
that is to say, the front breadths and the front of the bodice are cut at the
waist and then gored together, but are cut each side in one length and sloped
out so as to fall into the figure; it is said to be an exceedingly graceful
form, but one which requires all the petticoats that are worn underneath it to
be gored. A row of buttons is
generally sewn all down the front, and occasionally down the gores.
White cashmere morning-dresses, bound with black velvet, and trimmed with
black velvet buttons, are now very popular.
Tartans
are very popular for dresses. The
dress is cut in the Gabrielle form, (the boddice [sic] and skirt in one piece in
front,) with a paletot or circular cape to match; the Rob Roy being the favorite
plaid.
Wrapping.
Talmas, circulars, paletots of every style are worn.
In fact, almost anything in the way of a covering for the shoulders is
fashionable.
The
paletot has undergone some modifications; instead of the fronts being cut
straight, they slant gradually as they descend, being joined only at the throat,
where they are fastened. They are
now cut, as nearly as possible, to fall into the waist, without being quite
tight. Tassels and gimp ornaments
are much employed for ornamenting these paletots.
The material of which they are made is usually the same as the dress, and
they are trimmed round to correspond with the skirt.
For
autumn wear the black silk circular cape is very popular; it is made of gros
grain or gros royal, and should be cut to fall some four inches below the waist.
The best trimming for it, when it is destined for a married lady, is two
rows of deep black lace. The first
row of black lace is sewed on round the edge of the cape, and is headed with a
thick black silk ruche; the second row is first joined to the piece of black
Brussels net the same depth as the lace, and this is joined also to the cloak
underneath the first row, the two rows of lace hanging separate from each other. A black silk ruche is arranged up the front and round the
throat.
Bonnets
Do not stand quite as high as formerly, and although the decided Marie Stuart shape is not very much worn, still, in its modified style, it is very popular. These bonnets are not very large, but are more flat or square across the top than those which have been worn. The colored crepe caps are now much more general than the white tulle ones, and in many cases more becoming. White tulle veils, ruched all round with white or with colored ribbon under the hem, are worn over the face; these do not set closely to it like a mask, as formerly, but hang from it rather more loosely.
In Collars and Cuffs
An improvement has been introduced by trimming the plain
stitched linen with Maltese lace insertion and edgings.
Under-sleeves are now cut in the same shape as those of dresses, and made
with very deep cuffs, no longer turned back, but straight.
These cuffs often consist of alternate bands of stitched linen and
insertions of Maltese lace; a deep lace is carried round the edge of the wrist,
and turns up on one side the length of six or seven inches, to correspond with
the trimming of the sleeves of the dress. The
under-sleeve is often also open half way, the opening being edged with a band of
stitched linen and a fall of Maltese lace.
When this is not the case, and the wrist is narrower, a full puffings of
muslin are made in the lower part of the sleeve.
The collars are straight, and made in the same style.
Chemisettes
are much worn, and made of cambric, with narrow fluted pleats, divided by
insertions of lace or embroidery, with a narrow edge round the neck; they are
often rather under-bodies than chemisettes, coming down as far as the waist, and
with the sleeves made on to them.
Colored
collars and sleeves are popular; these are made either of self colored cambric,
such as mauve, or with a white ground, spotted and striped with a gay color.
The collar is worn in two ways, either very narrow and straight round the
throat, or turned down with points in front—the wristbands either falling upon
the hands as a gentleman's cuffs, or turned back from four to five inches.
These are either fastened with round linen buttons, or with three large
silver or gold studs, the initials being engraved on them.
The black ribbon velvet which secures the locket and is tied at the back
is worn wider than formerly. For
afternoon wear, white muslin under-sleeves are cut almost close to the arm and
left open at the wrist; they are ornamented with applications of cambric, which
is stitched on in a pattern around Valenciennes insertion.
A frill of Valencinnes lace falls into the waist, and is carried up as
far as the elbow at the outside of the arm.
For Morning Wear,
The nets which are generally worn are all trimmed with a bow at the top of the head. This is said to be an improvement upon the elastic, which, when visible, was not a pretty object to contemplate; the informal bow now completely conceals the elastic. The loops should run along the top and the ribbon should be the same color as the net, and not wide.
Shapes of Petticoats.
The majority of French dress-makers are goring the skirts of dresses, with the object of diminishing the quantity of gathers about the hips, and making the figure as flat at the waist as possible. This object, it is said, can be more easily attained if the petticoats are gored likewise, and those who object to the gored breadths as being liable to be pulled out of shape at the wash can overcome the difficulty by inserting a piping when sewing up the breadths. The cage-crinoline should be covered midway with the same color as the petticoat which is worn above it. The stockings should match, as nearly as possible, both in color and style, with the petticoat, as harmony in the toilet is more than ever considered now.
Dressing Jackets
Are very popular made of white jaconet, percole [sic?] or brilliante, and trimmed with bands of self-colored cambric; these bands should not be more than one inch and a half wide, and should be edged with narrow white braid at each side. The bands should be placed down the fronts and around the bottom of the jacket and sleeves. As trimmings, they have much to recommend them, as they do not require to be removed when the jacket is consigned to the washerwoman's hands.
Elaborately Arranged Heads of Hair
Are fashionable for evening, and in addition, a rose or a butterfly is placed in the centre of the forehead, with the hair clustering around and about it. The ornament, be it flower, fly or bird, should be fastened in such a manner as to present the appearance of being embroidered in the hair. Natural butterflies have been much coveted ornaments in Paris during the last six months, consequently these have attained to fabulous prices, $25 being frequently paid for one of them.
Gloves.
Many ladies wear gloves which match precisely with the color of their dress. The Empress of the French is generally to be seen with apricot-colored kid gloves. The newest style in Paris, and the one most generally adopted, is a tight glove with the three lines down the back stitched in black, the remainder of the glove being sewn with silk to match the kid.
A New Color.
The English journals announce the appearance of a new color. One of these
journals says: "It has met our
eye in all crowded assemblages in fifty different shades, and we have heard it
called by more than a dozen different names.
It has long been known by 'the new color,' leather, coffee, hazel brown,
tiger, a golden brown, cigar, havane, etc., etc., and although we do not
think that any one of its divers names exactly corresponds with the shade, yet
we all recognize it when we see it. One
of the great advantages it posses is that it is a durable color, and not being a
delicate one, it does not soil quickly; it also looks well when trimmed with
black, which is ever the most distinguished of all trimmings.
This fact has most probably been remarked by silk manufacturers, for many
of the newest silks have golden leather-colored grounds with black spots upon
them. But the leather-color has had
its day, and a very long one, too, and the tourterelle (turtle-dove)
shade is to reign in its stead. It
is lighter than the cuir, and many would reject it as being Quakerish,
but, for all that, a great success is prophesied for it.
Only the other day we saw a dress made with it, destined for the
travelling costume of a very youthful and wealthy bride.
Dress, circular cape trimmed with chenille fringe of the same color,
boots, gloves and parasol were all of the tourterelle (turtle-dove) shade, and a
very lady-like and distinguished toilette it formed.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, November 28, 1863, p. 164, c. 4
Eloquent Extract.
Paul Denton, the Texas Missionary, was once holding a camp meeting in the
woods of that State. In order to
insure a large crowd, he had previously advertised that there would be on the
ground a good barbecue, better liquor, and the best gospel.
After the delivery of a thrilling sermon, the vast crowd sat down to
dinner, when a notorious desperado, who was present, demanded of the minister
where the liquor was! Denton
pointed his motionless finger to a double spring, in front of him, gushing up in
two strong columns from the earth. "There,
he replied, with a look as terrible as lightning, while his enemy actually
trembled on his feet—there is the liquor, which God the eternal brews for all
his children! Not in the simmering
still, over smoky fires, choked with poisonous gasses, and surrounded with the
stench of sickening odors and rank corruption, doth your Father in Heaven
prepare the precious essence of life—the pure cold water.
But in the green grassy dell, where the red deer wanders, and the child
loves to play, there God himself brews it; and down, low down in the deepest
valleys, where the fountains murmur and the rills sing, and high upon the tall
mountain tops, where naked granite glitters like gold in the sun, where the
storm cloud broods, and the thunder tones crash; and away far out in the wild
wide sea, where the hurricane howls music, and big waves roar, the chorus,
'sweeping the march of God'—there he brews it, that beverage of life,
health-giving water. And everywhere
it is a thing of beauty—gleaming in the dew-drops; singing in the summer rill,
shining in the ice gem, till the trees all seemed turned to living
jewels—spreading a golden veil over the sun, or a white gauze around the
midnight moon; sporting in the cataract, sleeping in the glacier, dancing in the
hail shower; folding its bright snow curtains softly about the wintry world; and
weaving the many colored iris, that seraph's zone of the sky whose warp is the
rain-drop of earth, whose wool is the sunbeam of heaven, checkered o'er with
celestial flowers, by the mystic hand of refraction.
Still always beautiful—that blessed life-giving water!
No poison bubbles on its brink; its foam brings no madness or murder; no
blood stains its liquid glass; pale widdows [sic] and starved orphans weep not
burning tears in its clear depths; no drunkard's shrieking ghost from the grave
curses it in words of eternal despair! Speak
out, my friends, would you exchange it for the demon's drink, alcohol!"
A
shout of many voices answered, 'No!' A
spectator to the scene says no pen can describe the effect of the speech—it
was overwhelming. The desperado
tried to skulk away behind the crowd, while the audience stood electrified
before the speaker.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 5, 1863, p. 171, c. 4
English Women as Smokers.
The custom of smoking by women has lately been introduced in England, and
according to the Court Journal, is likely to "become very prevalent."
The authority says:
Fashion
holds such a tyrannic sway over society that we need never be surprised at
seeing the most astounding change in manners, customs and dress brought about
through its magic influence. High
waists, no waists at all, chimney-pot bonnets, powdered hair, rouge, patches,
enamel hoops, farthingales, crinoline, high-heeled boots, sandals, high dresses,
decollettees dresses have all had their day; we have lived to see the time when
duelists and four-battle men no longer exist, and when every man, high and low,
rich and poor, old and young, indulges in the German and Dutch luxuries of the
short pipe and mild Havana. But a
more startling change is likely "to come over the spirit of our
dreams;" ladies belonging to la creme de la creme of society have
introduced cigarettes. We could
mention the name of many of England's aristocratic daughters who openly indulge
in mild Latskia. A clever
contemporary has alluded to "fast matrons;" let us hope that unmarried
ladies will be slow to follow the example of those who would introduce the
noxious weed into female society. If
Belgrave ladies seal their lips against pleasant contact by such a custom, let
the outer circles hold aloof, and believe not that there is aught celestial and
god-like in entering such unfragrant clouds.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 5, 1863, p. 176, c. 4
Flowers!
Flowers! Flowers!
John Morton, Florist,
Corner Main and Reservoir Streets.
Just beyond the Old Fair Grounds, will be pleased to see his old friends and customers and all in want of
Flowers!
A choice collection of Green-house Flowers—Camelias, Violets, &c.,
&c., suitable for making Boquets, Wreathes, Crosses and Stars. Also, Roses, Green-house Plants, Shade and Ornamental Trees,
Evergreens, Shrubs, &c., &c.
John Norton, Florist
N.B.—I
have no connection with any other place in the city.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, December 26, 1863, p. 200, c. 4
Summary: New Publications—The
Geographic Reader, by Mrs. M. B. Moore; The First Dixie Reader, by Mrs. M. B.
Moore; The Dixie Primer, 3rd ed.; The Dixie Spelling-Book will be
issued as early as possible; The First Book in Composition; York's English
Grammar; Historical Scripture Question-Book, by J. W. Crowder; Hill's Poems, 2nd
ed.; Myrtle Leaves, by A. W. Morgan; Morven and Lind, by A. W. Mangum.
Bronson, Farrar & Co., Publishers and Booksellers, Raleigh, NC
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, January 2, 1864, p. 2, c. 1-4
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
Holly Berries,
A Christmas Fantasy.
By Refugita.
Ah, what a bitter night! Great
guns of wind went booming down the street, hustling round the corners, and
spending their fury upon the naked shivering tree-tops.
All though the day had that strife gone on, until dusk began, and then
the strife ceased, and the heavens prepared to hang out their flag of truce, in
the shape of a heavy snow, all ready against the morrow—for it was Christmas
Eve, and what would a Christmas day be without its snow-balls? . . .
Well,
it does seem hard to cloud over those sunshiny faces with such a doleful picture
of holiday times—so just to cheer ourselves up, let us turn round this corner,
and join that crowd of don't care little ragamuffins staring in at Mr. Pin's
grocery shop window. I know it will
make your mouths water, now, Confederate juveniles, to recall such a tempting
array. There was, first, behind the
clear crystal pane, a mammoth turkey, so fat that it must have submitted to be
killed from sheer inability to eat and move, hung all round with sausage-balls,
and embowered in crisp-white celery, with its feathered tops.
Many a belated housekeeper, or father of a family, passing by, cast in
loving glances at the monster bird, and turned away with their hands on depleted
purses, and arms full of brown paper parcels.
Then there were straw baskets of eggs, white and shining with the
delightful prospect of translation into future egg-nogg; pale yellow butter,
stamped with ears of corn, bee-hives, and statuesque cows, with their tails in
an attitude. But these were all
substantials, and the principal attraction was the opposite window, where great
pyramids of golden oranges, scaly brown pine-apples, festoons of bananas, boxes
of figs and raisins, with their covers thrown temptingly aside, foreign sauces
and pickles, cheeses, and gilded walnuts, were arranged in picturesque
regularity, just, as it seemed, almost within reach of one's olfactories and
mouth, until a closer proximity realized the fact of that thick late-glass
between. Inside it was just the
same; there were barrels and boxes in a perfect wilderness; curious old foreign
packages and chests, savory of rare teas, and rarer jellies; cinnamon odors,
like gales from Araby, meeting you at every turn; but yet everything, from the
shining mahogany counter under the brilliant gas-light, up to the broad, clean,
round face of the jolly grocer, Pin, was so neat, and orderly, and inviting,
that you felt inclined to believe yourself requested to come in and take off
things by the pocketful, without paying a solitary cent. . . .
Mary
quickly obeyed him, and admitted two small ragged specimens, of undecided age
and sex, the larger of whom marched manfully up to the counter.
'Please,
sir, what'll this buy?'
On the
very dirty paw extended lay a single worn copper, evidently the large capital of
their joint interests. Mr. Pin
gazed for a moment at the eager little smutted faces upturned to his, at their
garments, then back at his daughter, so neat and fair to see, and suppressing
the ready chuckle that ever welled up from his capacious chest, changed it into
a peculiar choking sound instead, and then regained speech to ask:
'And
what do you want it to buy, my child?'
The
two pair of eyes sparkled.
'Kin
it buy a cent's worth o' that 'ere thing?'
The
bony finger pointed up to a Bologna sausage suspended above.
The jolly grocer's eyes twinkled at the choice, but muttering a 'children
will be children,' he took it down, cut a long piece off, added to it a handful
of crackers, and winding up all with two painted sticks of that candy like a
barber's pole, which maketh glad the hearts of children, saw the twain depart
happy as kings, to use a dubious comparison. . . .
Christmas
bells, holiday bells clanged joyfully out upon the clear, cold air, making the
little child start as she drew back her cheek from against the frosty pane.
Rockets, with their trail of luminous sparks, darted through the night;
crackers and torpedoes sputtered their mimic fires upon the pavement; carriage
loads of little children, in gala-dress, rolled noiselessly over the stones;
every house was alight, and every heart warmed with the universal holiday. . . .
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, January 2, 1864, p. 4, c. 2
Christmas.
Once more, in doubly desolate Winter, we greet the presence of the day of
universal joy; and though it does not come to us clothed in the atmosphere of
peace, we welcome it with something of the olden sentiments of peace, joy and
good will to all men. The jocund
day of the past it is not, nor do we recognize the bright paraphernalia, the
general bliss and bidding good-bye to care, the munificent displays by day and
the magnificent sky-rocketings by night, but it is the day upon which the
happiness and glory of Christendom hinges, and usage, rule and inclination unite
to render it acceptable as a day of extra exuberance.
Some partially successful attempts in the shop windows, and no doubt many
splendid surprises in the Christmas-tree corners and under the breakfast plates
of the rising generation, have done something toward dimming the effect of
infelicitous comparisons; and the druidical custom of decking the dining halls
with the plentiful festoons of running cedar and red-berried holly, will have
been enough, very likely, for the more volatile and less lucky to make denial of
the luxuries, they suggest a pleasant offering upon the altar of imagination.
The aroma of delicious dishes, coming in after plentiful potations of
-----"the true old aurum potabile,
Gilding life as it goes shabbily,"
must deferentially evaporate away from the regions of Confederate expectation,
and give place to meeker fare and weaker liquids, or stay, in the abstract,
"to cloy the hungry edge of appetite by bare imagination of a feast."
Philosophy would very properly suggest that we take things as they are,
with the comfort that more people than we have fared worse before; yet it is
worth while to remember that we may live to see Christmas again—the Christmas
of old—and it is not reasonable that we should altogether forget it, if we are
a little under the dampening influence of the blockade.
It will never do to let slip the spicy reminiscences, awakened in those
gay old carols that jingle from Germany both ways to the Pacific ocean, and
merrily tell—
"'Twas Christmas brought the mightiest ale,
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
And Christmas gambols oft would cheer,
A poor man's heart through half the year!"
It is
apparent, then, that keeping up the custom according to facilities is the best
philosophy to be pursued on the occasion, and while due reverence is paid to the
religious attributes of the day and season, due respect should follow to the
correlative demand for jubilation. Christmas
will find many a poor fellow standing guard in the freezing shadows of some
sighing wood, or on the banks of some ice-bound river down which the wind beats
bitterly; it will find him shivering over camp fires kept alive by the chilling
blast that bears upon its breast a storm of snow; it will find him bleeding
under the pine tree shade, or wasting on the couch of suffering, his dream of a
"merry Christmas" cut short by a bullet from under the thickets on the
Rapidan or out of the battle clouds that have burst in the West.
To many, alas! it is no more
forever. The unkind earth on which
they trod, marching to victory, and which bore them proudly from the last year's
carnival, through holly and bay and mistletoe dreams, has torn off its hollow
mask and disclosed beneath their unconscious feet the chasm of death and
oblivion. To all of those, the
quick and the dead, the mind will turn in the midst of enjoyment and give the
gentle tribute of a prayer—a prayer of patience to the living, peace to the
dead, comfort to those that suffer for them, health and prosperity, victory and
glory to the Army!
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, January 2, 1864, p. 4, c. 4
The Drama.
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts!"
The
progressive spirit which has seized hold upon the people of the South is truly
astonishing. Scarcely had the sun
dawned upon the new-born Confederacy than a vast army, panoplied for the fight,
was marshalled, and the blast of war sounded. Chieftains did not wait for
swords, but ploughshares and scythes were turned from their legitimate
uses—for
"When men are brave the sickle is a spear."
The sturdy sons of the South did not allow Freedom to
"_____ pine till the slow armorer
Gilds her caparison and sends her out
To glitter and play antics in the sun."
No! an armed nation was born in a
day. Nor can it be said that the
raising and equipping of a vast army taxed the energies and capacities of the
young Republic in such a degree as to retard to check the growth of everything
else which tends to make a nation great and happy.
For while her victorious armies have thrice and thrice again beaten back
from our shores the hireling hordes of Yankeedom, manufactories have grown
apace—indeed, factories of all kinds have sprung up as if by magic, until at
last the busy hum of the spinning wheel and the ring of the anvil clearly
demonstrate the fact that we have become a manufacturing as well as a fighting
people. Nor is this all.—Literature,
too, pure and undefiled—free from the contaminating and detestable isms
of Yankeedom—has already asserted itself, and grown amongst us from a tender
shoot to almost giant proportions, and now gives healthful instruction and
amusement to the old as well as the young.
Harper, Leslie, Ballou, Bonner, Godey, et id omne genus, so far as
the South is concerned in the future, are now quietly interred, never again to
be resurrected in the land of the pomegranate, the laurel and the rose.
In some instances our managers have done all in their power to raise the
Drama from the mire into which the libertines and demireps of the land of isms
had plunged it, while others have been content to cater to the tastes of the low
and groveling herd, who nightly flock to see pieces of questionable morality
belonging to the Bowery or sensational school.
Managers Crisp, Morton, and Dalton deserve the thanks of the Southern
people for their efforts in behalf of the legitimate Drama; to say the least,
they have attempted to give us
"_____ the Jew
That Shakspeare drew."
Manager Ogden, too, is entitled to some little commendation.
The scenic effects in the majority of the pieces produced at the Theatre
have been, as a general thing, very good; but the greater portion of the plays
selected for representation have been of a questionable character.
Yet, on the whole, the people of the South have some reason to
congratulate themselves on the rapid improvement made during the year in
Dramatic representations. While
they have not been, in this city at least, of that high order which would
naturally attract the attention and support of the more enlightened portions of
our community, we yet have the satisfaction of knowing that the Drama in the
Confederacy has passed through the various stages of infancy, and that we may
therefore expect something greater from it during the coming year.
Hence for the nonce, we lay aside the scalpel, and join in that "merrie
song" that bids
"_____thrice welcome to Christmas,
Which brings good cheer."
Fill our glass with that old-fashioned nankeenish-colored drink, yclept egg-nogg,
and drink success to our Republic—her Armies, her Manufactories,
her Literature, and her Drama.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, January 2, 1864, p. 8, c. 1-4
Summary: Cartoon of woman in grocery--"No'm; we couldn't sell this
sugar for less than four dollars a pound. You see we have to pay the
marketmen twenty-five dollars a bushel for potatoes, &c., &c.,
&c." and the same woman in the market--"Yes'm; I has to charge
twenty-five dollars a bushels for them potatoes; I has to pay four dollars a
pound for every pound of sugar I gets, &c., &c."
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, January 16, 1864, p. 1, c. 3-4
Ladies' Winter Fashions in Paris.
The annexed, from La Follet, will doubtless prove interesting to
the ladies of the Confederacy:
The
Beatrice cloak for December is of rich black velvet, shawl shape in the back,
and cloak front, ornamented with guipure lace insertion, and an elegant guipure
flounce. The Moscovite is very
graceful, and not very extravagant. The
fullness lies in large plaits. A
large pelerine forms the sleeve, figures in large squares in front.
It is composed of two pieces, which are joined in the back; the seams are
ornamented with insertion. One
model is made of velvet beaver, of a very dark brown.
The tassel and insertion are black.
In the
stores there are many fine styles. One
velvet circular is brought out in admirable taste and excellence for service and
comfort. It has a neatly quilted,
black marceline lining. Around the
neck is a fulled and rich guipure lace of over two inches in width.
The armholes are finished with the same fulled guipure; handsome crotchet
[sic] buttons, of very large size, wrought with bugles and finished with rich
pendants, come as far down as the bottom of the waist in front.
One such button is at the top and bottom of the arm-hole, gathered down
the ends of the fallen lace.
One of
less cost, but equally charming in style, is of very heavy black silk, in a long
loose sack form. It has elbowed,
half loose sleeves and pockets. The
bugle trimming is elegant. It is
like separate branches of foliage laid on at intervals each side of the front,
the whole length of the sack. The
cuffs and the pockets are ornamented with the same sprigs or leaves as the body,
except that they are graduated in size. There
is no collar, but the same graceful bugle trimming is around the neck.
This sack has a quilted black silk lining.
Another
model is of black broad-cloth, which is decidedly a winter garment.
It has a collar, and is without lining.
The shoulders and the back and the cuffs are decorated with the bugle
trimming. On the two side seams at
the bottom of the skirt the bugle trimming is in beautiful forms, but much
larger than on the upper parts. It
extends about half a yard up the seam.
A long
circular of grave velvet cloth, with hoods and rich chenille tassels of brown
and white, is very lady-like, and also suitable for any emergency or storms, as
well as clear, cold weather.
A
capital thing for the wear and tear of every day is the long gray circular in
beaver cloth, with a falling hood. The
hood lined with blue silk and finished with blue cords and tassels in excellent
taste. Brown trimmings upon the
gray cloth are also in much vogue.
The
Basquine is considered very stylish in black cloth, but it requires a large
quantity of material, and then appears to advantage only upon the finest form.
This has very rich crochet trimming upon the half open sleeve and on the
shoulders and back seams.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, February 6, 1864, p. 40, c. 2-4
Summary: Cartoon of young woman seated in front of a slave child who has
her mistress' broken cage crinoline around her, the waistband on the child's
head. "Miss Susan, despairingly--"There! it's no use,
Kitty; you can go and take the whole thing off. Was there ever such
barbarity? Who but the Yankees would ever have thought of making hoop
skirts contraband of war?"
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, February 13, 1864, p. 41, c. 4
Fashionable Chit-Chat
"Never were such dinner parties given since New York was a city as
are given now," writes the correspondent of the London Times.
"Delmonico's three restaurants at the beginning, the middle, and the
end of the dining region of the metropolis, are kept fully employed; and dinners
of twenty or thirty persons, at $20 a head, exclusive of wine, are of nightly
occurrence. The guests prefer the
choicest and most costly vintages, regardless of the paper price.
Madeira at $12 a bottle, Chateau Laffitte at the same rate, and
Chambertin at $15, are none too expensive for their tastes.
Why should they be? do not
many of these people often make as much as $10,000 in an afternoon in the rise
of stocks that fluctuate as much as 12 per cent. from day to day. And have they not as much right as the fool in Scripture to
say, 'Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die?'
The
recherche hat, in New York, is described as of silver colored straw of exquisite
braid and artistic proportions Trimmings
of short white feathers, mingled together, and slightly overarching the front;
clusters of blue velvet convolvolus on the sides, and the same for inside
trimmings; strings of white ribbon, edged with ruching of narrow blue velvet.
"Jennie June" tells the ladies that collars are becoming
somewhat deeper, and standing collars are no longer worn.
The
fashion reporters say the question is not so much what is new, what is in the
best taste, as what costs the most money.
The
Marie Stuart style prevails in bonnets—heart shaped, drooping slightly.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, February 13, 1864, p. 48, c. 3
Summary: Illustration of Poisoned
Ball Fired by the Yankees in their Late Assault on Battery Wagner.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS, March 5, 1864, p. 67, c. 2-4
[Written for the
Illustrated News.]
My Portfolio.
Dip V.
A Letter from Solomon Shabrach, 5th Corporal,
Army of Northern Virginia.
Camp Quattlebum Rifles, N.N.V., }
January 25, 1864. }
When
you come out of Richmond, my dear boys, you have to get a passport.
As you have never yet travelled from home, I will explain what a passport
is. It is a paper (always brown)
which is signed by somebody or his clerk, and which induces a melancholy looking
soldier at the cars, with a musket and fixed bayonet, to let you go back from
the horrors of Richmond to the delights of camp.
As,
without this brown paper (for unless the paper is brown the passport is not
good,) you cannot get back home—that is to camp, the soldier's home—there
is, of course, a great crowd of applicants always at the office where the papers
are delivered. I was recently in
Richmond, having been sent there on business connected with the Quartermaster's
Department of our regiment, and I will describe for your instruction the
passport office, and the way you get a passport.
I
thought at first I would not need one, because my orders were approved by
several high officers, and last by major Taylor, Adjutant-General of the army,
"by command of General Lee," and nobody had demanded any other
evidence of my right to travel before I reached Richmond.
"Uncle Robert" will not allow his provost marshals at Orange or
Gordonsville to deny his sign manual, and I was under the mistaken impression
that I could enjoy the luxury of taking back a lot of shoes and blankets to the
Quattlebum Rifles, without getting a permit on brown paper from some Major or
Captain in Richmond. I accordingly
went to the cars, and on presenting my orders to the melancholy young man with
the musket and bayonet, posted there, found his musket drop across the door.
When I asked him what that meant, he shook his head and said I had
"no passport." I called
his attention again to my orders, but he remained immovable, uttering in a
dreary sort of way, "You must get a passport."
"Why
here are the names of a Brigadier and Major-General."
"You
must get a passport."
'Here
is Major Taylor's signature, by command of General Lee."
"You
must get a passport."
"From
whom?"
"Captain
_____." I forget who "at
the passport office."
This
appeared to be such a good joke that I began to laugh, at which the sentinel
looked very much astonished, and evidently had his doubts of my sanity.
I went back and at once looked up the "passport office."
I found that it was in a