Woman's chronicle. (Little Rock, Ark.) 1888-1???, 1889-08-10
tender arch above us all, and the gray ocean that
enfolds one country and one flag.
"Angels look downward from the skies
Upon holier ground,
Than where defeated valor lies
By generous foeman crowned"

Uel. Duchuer ol the confederate army, ana TO
whose recent birthday celebrations rallied Fitz
Hugh Lee and other Southern braves.
The leaders of the party that was great when
great Lincoln was it's chief, are pleased in these
days of it's degeneracy to call US ''the ST. Johnites
He is our patron saiAt-heaven bless him-who
laid himself upon the altar of our sacred cause,
and in the flame of partisan wrath that followed
the defeat of 1884, proved to be 'swhole burnt
Offering yet present him to you here tonight,
one of the most gallant Union soldiers, without
the smell of fire upon his garments
That party dare not gather gray and blue at its
convention lest they should spoil its ammunition
and tip one chief plank of its plantform into the
last ditch. What would it do if thus ruthlessly
deprived of that timeworn utterance about "free
ballot and fair connt, - which in it's long years of
supremacyit has proved itself impotent to secure,
while the greatest party, by dividing the white
vote into two hostile camps on the prohibition
issue, is opening straight path for the black man
to the polls?
The women who uniformed their sons in South
crn gray and said, like the Spartan mother of old,
s'Come we as conquerers or come no more,' are
here tonight with those other women who belted
Northern swords upon their boys in blue, with
words as pitiless and brave. The women who en-
brodered stars and stripes upon the blessed flag
that symbozed their love and faith to-day have
only gentle words for those who decked their
!'bonne flag of stars and bars" with tenderness
as true and faith as fervent. The greatest party
seats these women side by side tonight, and we
all wear our snowy badge of peace above the
hearts that hate no more, while we clasp hands in
contract never to be broken, and solemnly de-
clare before high heaven, our equal hatred of the
rum power and our equal loyalty to God and home
and native land.
What hath God wrought? Surely a winsome
thing is the human heart. 1t went against the
grain for us to hate each other, did it not, dear
Southern friends and allies? Never in history was
there war involving 50 little personal anlmosty.
The French by nature hate the English, and speak
about "perfdous Albion" and we know that
Glands intersected by a narrow firth abhor each
other" but our great answered continent was
meant for an answered people, and imam breaks
not the medal when God cuts the die" One
Anglo-Saxon race having one heritage of
queenly language and heroic history of hard
ships mutually borne-it was hard for us to
hate each other. The soldiers learned this
first, brave and chivalric fellows, and they
helped to teach us stay-at-nomes Inc gracious
lessons of fraternity. How often was the rude
wreath of leaves placed on confederate grave
by the Union soldier who had killed and yet who
had wept over him who lay beneath. The fury of
the non-combatant was almost the only fury that
survived Grants brothery words to Lee at APP
pomattox.
Devoted to the stars and stripes the sentiment
of patriotism having been, from childhood, like
fire in the bones with me, | yet have wept over the
flag for love of which great Stonewal Jackson and
gallant Albert Sidney Johnston died. Nor do l
envy the Northern patriot who can read without
tugging of the heart that wondrous poem by
Father Ryan, the Southern Catholic priest, about
'The Sword of Lee" and can hardly trust my
self to repeat his requiem of the Southern flag;
"Fold that banner, for It's weary;
Round its staff tits floating drear,
Furl it, fold 1t; it is BEST
For there's not man to wave H.