Port Tobacco times, and Charles County advertiser. (Port Tobacco, Md.) 1845-1898, 1873-08-22

| Was UredkluS, WIFI Gue euCrdnClnS
melody of the "Middletown boys" Il
which our fathers marched to die, a
Lundy's Lane? If we are to stand a
mong our monuments and graves anC
say, let the waves of Lethe'roll above
them, what is the glorious past to us
We have entered upon a new era
Then we say into this oblivion We
cannot plunge our souls, for these
sweet but mournful memories are the
cold things that with us can never
pass away. And we beg leave to differ
from the enthusiastic persons who Gel
ebrated the great Peace Jubilee, just
after the war, with regared to our fit
ness for ''millenial glory" and must
say that we think this the strangest OF
all their hallucinations. Do they for
get that the moccasin of the wary In
dian never rests; that his wrongs have
reached the ear of Omnipotence, and
that while (although some show of
tardy justice has latterly been shown
him) the cruel policy of our govern
ment has ever kept alive all the saw
age instincts of his nature, and church
spires lit up by the rising and the set
ting sun, are glistening upon either
side of his wild domain, and the loud
ly pealing organ almost reaches his
ears! How few there are with the
christian heroism to take to him the
Gospel in its simplicity, to kneel with
him in his lonely wigwam with sad
evidences of his neglected condition
all around him, to tell him of, and aid
him to prepare for home in the
"many mansions" awaiting him in his
"Father's house" above! And that,
while almost all missionary effort is
directed to distant and savage islands,
this poor, hunted, painting brother,
when he stands where we must all
stand with the cold waters of death
touching his weary feet, still looks be-
yond its dark flood to a land of rest,
conceived of by his poetic but fallen
nature, where the sweet enchantment
of the Indian summer does not give
place to the chill blasts of winter, and
where the beloved squaw and bright
eyed pappoosa look out for him from
the door of the hunters lodge by the
blue lakes in the far-off "hunting
grounds'-the poor red mans Heaven.
Do they think Of the barbarities infict-
ed on the unoffending Asiatics who
-s4ts.al- m 1pi+h tha Uici-
Gus classes from Europe to seek our
shores the grievous falling away from
reverence for the Bible, and conse-
quently from pure evangelical piety ;
the denominations of Mormanism; the
alarming extension Of infdelity; the
infamy of morals? They speak ador-
ingly Of the ''stars and stripes" and
seem to forget that they have waved over
fields of carnage in the sunny South
and rapturously quote from the "Star
Spangled Banner" those heart-stirring
words: "Our flag is still there"-words
which were wont to thrill with proud
enthusiasm and love of country the gal
liant hearts now mouldered to dust in
untimely graves-the martyred Con-
federate dead. Let us say to those war
riors from whose desolating track over
the hapless South this crushed nation
have scarcely yet arisen, and who are
fond of quoting "Our fagi still there, "
Look again, ye ruthless soldiers, for we
think your vision is obscured by the
smoke that ever ascends from South
ern homesteads, from whose shelter
ing rooftree you drove trembling age,
helpless infancy, and sweet young
maidenhood. We see but shattered
staff, from whose once proud pinacle
the glorious eagle has long since flown,
but upon it's place has perched a
sable raven, and as they point to
the old once proud banner whose
clammy folds beat heavily upon the
shuddering air, while loud shouts
rend the skies, the ominous bird silent
ly flaps his wings and looks down up
on its crimson ground. May God
grant that in consequence of the mill
tary despotism which has so long been
crushing the life throbs from Southern
hearts, our nationality may not be dy-
ing! For it's death will be terrible
one; its last agonies will convulse the
world, and at its grave, angels, though
unseen by us, will stand and weep
Dear morning of our country's day, is
the bright light which lit up thy green
shores with early golden beauty, so
soon giving place to blackness and
storms, and thy dear melodies chang
ing to funeral dirge, mingling with
the deep anthems of eternity! AS with
weeping eyes and clasped hands we
stand looking upon the broken idols,
we cannot but remember the solemn
injunction of Holy Writ-"Let us use
this world as not abusing it, for the
fashion of it passeth away"
wr"Molly," said Joe Kelly's ghost
to his wife, 'I'm in purgatory at this
present time," says he.
"And what sort of place is it?" says
she.
"Faix," said he, ''it's sort of half
way house between you and heaven ;
and stand it mighty aisy after leav-
ing you"
Ra-The young man who sat down
last night in front of the residence of
a nervous old couple and hoarsely sang
"Sweet spirit, hear my prayer" must
have been praying for rain, for he got
wet,