Monthly Archives: April 2019


On Sunday, the 29th of July, 1862, a large number of Union officers attended the Old School Presbyterian Church of the Rev. Dr. W. H. Mitchell, at Florence, Alabama. So many of them were present that they constituted a majority of the congregation. After the usual opening hymn, the minister asked the congregation to unite in prayer, when, to their utter astonishment, the reverend traitor prayed for Jeff. Davis, for the success of the Confederate arms, and for the attainment of the independence of the Confederate people. The Union men were greatly indignant at this gross insult, but remained standing until the prayer was concluded, when they all left the church. After he had commenced his sermon, Colonel Harlan returned to the church, walked up to the pulpit, arrested the preacher, and delivered him, in compliance with the orders of General Thomas, to a detachment of cavalry, which immediately conveyed him as a prisoner to Tuscumbia.

Originally posted 2008-05-01 15:21:35.

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The war has given birth to many gems of poetry, patriotic, humorous, and pathetic, illustrative of the times. The following was suggested by an affecting scene in one of the army hospitals. A brave lad of sixteen years, belonging to a New England regiment, mortally wounded at Fredericksburg, and sent to the Patent Office Hospital in Washington, was anxiously looking for the coming of his mother. As his last hour approached, and his sight grew dim, he mistook a sympathetic lady who was wiping the cold, clammy perspiration from his forehead, for the expected one, and with a smile of joy lighting up his pale face, he whispered tenderly, “Is that mother?” “Then,” says the writer, “drawing her towards him with all his feeble strength, he nestled his head in her arms like a sleeping infant, and thus died with the sweet word mother on his quivering lips.”


Is that mother bending o’er me,
As she sang my cradle hymn–
Kneeling there in tears before me?
Say?–my sight is growing dim.

Comes she from the old home lowly,
Out among the northern hills,
To her pet boy dying slowly
Of war’s battle wounds and ills?

Mother! O, we bravely battled–
Battled till the day was done;
While the leaden ball storm rattled–
Man to man and gun to gun.

But we failed–and I’m dying–
Dying in my boyhood’s years,
There–no weeping–self-denying,
Noble deaths demand no tears.

Fold your arms again around me;
Press again my aching head;
Sing the lullaby you sang me–
Kiss me, mother, ere I’m dead.

Originally posted 2008-04-30 18:57:13.

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A correspondent says: The word “skedaddle” is not derived from the Greek verb Skedao, to scatter, as has been recently asserted by certain learned etymologists. The root of “Skedaddle” is found in the Gaelic, Celtic, and the ancient British or Welsh language. In Gaelic, “Sgiotadh” is the present participle from the verb “Sgiot,” and signifies “scattering,” the act of scattering. In the Irish, which is, properly speaking, the Gaelic, “Sgadad” signifies “flight,” and “Uile,” or “Ol,” all, or entirely–“all flight.” In the Welsh we have “Ysgudao,” or “Ysgudaw,” to scud about. So, also, in the Scandinavian languages; in the Swedish we have “Skuddo,” to throw or put out; “Sceotan,” Saxon, to flee or haste away; in a general sense, to be driven, or to flee with haste. “Skedaddle” might be derived more naturally from “Skud,” or “Scud,” and “Daddle,” than from the Greek “Skedao.”

Originally posted 2008-04-29 16:46:21.

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When the General was in quest of guerrillas in Western Virginia, he captured a young woman named Sallie Dusky, two brothers of whom were Captains in the rebel army. The General, feeling confident that the girl knew the hiding-places of the guerrillas, had a private conversation with her, and during the interview, having failed to get much satisfaction, he told her, if she would make a clean breast of it, he would give her the chances for a husband of all the young officers in his staff. This failed to bring the information, and Sallie was taken away in charge of Captain Baggs. As she moved away from the General’s presence, she asked the Captain if the General was really in earnest in making the last proposition. Baggs assured her that the General was sincere, and that he would have lived up to his promise. The girl assumed a kind of thoughtful manner, and after a short time replied: “Well, I believe I’d about as lief have the old man (meaning the General himself) as any of ’em.”

Originally posted 2008-04-28 15:06:27.

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