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Thomas C. DeLeon, Four years in Rebel capitals: an inside view of life in the southern confederacy, from birth to death., Chapter 11: on to Richmond! (search)
man may still recall his quiet, modest aid, in strong contrast to the brusquerie and insolence of office, too much the general rule; and his touching, heart-born poems were familiar at every southern hearth and camp-fireside. Soon after, the familiar voice of friendship was dulled to him-exulpatrice-by the boom of the broad Atlantic; and now his bones rest far away from those alcoves and their classic dust. John R. Thompson, the editor of the famous Southern literary Messenger, went to London to edit The Index, established in the never-relinquished hope of influencing European opinion. On reaching New York, when the cause he loved was lost, the staunch friendship of Richard Henry Stoddard and the appreciation of William Cullen Bryant found him congenial work on The Post. But the sensitive spirit was broken; a few brief years saw the end, and only a green memory is left to those who loved, even without knowing, the purest southern poet. From the roof of the Capitol is had th
Thomas C. DeLeon, Four years in Rebel capitals: an inside view of life in the southern confederacy, from birth to death., Chapter 17: from Court to camp. (search)
o, said the sergeant. But that's the hard part of it! --and he stuck his needle viciously through the pants-I always get savage when I think of our dear women left unpro- No particular one, sergeant? You don't mean Miss Mamie on Charles street, do you? Insatiate archer! cried Charley. Do your cooking, you imp! I mean my dear old mother and my sick sister. D-n this smoke! It will get in a fellow's eyes! When Miss Todd gave her picnic in the valley of Jehoshaphat and talked London gossip under the olives, it was an odd picture; it is strange to see the irrepressible English riding hurdles in the Campagna, and talking of ratting in the shadow of the Parthenon, as though within the beloved chimes of Bow; but it was stranger still to see those roughened, grimed men, with soleless boots and pants tattered as if an imp had worn them, rolling out town-talk and well-known names in such perfectly natural manner. And this was only a slice from any camp in the service. The