Quick to the melter and blacksmith's forge!
Are these your fretted brass candelabra, madame?
Brought across seas and handed down from one generation to the next, you say?
What of that?
calls, his need will not brook delay.
This tall, slender, lily-cupped candlestick, too, in the young girl's chamber, let it be brought out!
and those massive polished andirons Dorcas
has been so proud of. From the house to the quarters one very short step.
Take down the metal bell that rings the plantation signals!
Look well around now; perhaps you have some sonorous ram's or cow's horn to echo through the quarters?
That might do duty instead.
And how these women prayed!
The churches might open early, but our women were earlier.
In the dawn, see the anxious souls.
Anxious—yes, their hearts outstrip the hour to claim Heaven's protection for the soldier son, husband or father!
Before the altars the candles used to burn brightly and steadily as the faith that placed them there, and the burden of prayer that rose from the heart of the kneeling worshiper, and went up with the burning incense, was evermore the same: ‘Ay de mi!
ay de mi
! God guard our beloved ones and bless our cause!’
The men to-day are only the youth that went out a generation ago. The years added have capped them with honors which Time gives to all true men. With hair whiter than black, we meet our veterans daily on our streets.
Their step is still firm; their eye still clear; the grasp of their hands and the roll of their voices as natural as the lads' who went to fight.
From Memorial Hall on Camp street, raised by the munificence of Frank T. Howard
, a veteran's son, has sprung a noble tree of brotherhood, with four stalwart branches.
Call them the Army of Northern Virginia, the Army of Tennessee, and the Ex-Confederate Cavalry.
See them swelling with the quick sap of brotherhood!