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The old gentleman groaned and moaned. At last he bethought him of one final stratagem. He raised his head as well as he could, turned his haggard face full upon Shadrach, and glaring at him from his hollow blood-shot eyes, said,


Shadrach, I am going to die, and it's because I can't get any water. If you don't go and bring me a pitcher of water, after I'm dead I'll come back and HAUNT you! I'll HAUNT you as long as you live!"

"Oh Lordy! Master! You shall hab de water!" cried Shadrach; and he rushed out to the spring and brought it. The old man drank and drank,—the pitcherful and more. The next morning he was decidedly better, and to the astonishment of all, soon got well.



JOHN REUBEN THOMPSON was born at Richmond, and educated at the University of Virginia. He studied law, but practised little, and in 1847 became editor of the "Southern Literary Messenger." This position he filled with great success for twelve years and he exerted a fine influence on the literary taste and effort of his times. In this magazine first appeared the writings of Donald G. Mitchell (“Dream Life" and "Reveries of a Bachelor"), the early pieces of John Esten Cooke, Philip Pendleton Cooke, Paul Hamilton Hayne, Henry Timrod, and others.

His delicate health induced him to resign his place in 1859 and to go farther south to Augusta, Georgia, as editor of the "Southern Field and Fireside." In 1863 he travelled in Europe and his descriptive letters are very bright and in

teresting. He later became literary editor of the "Evening Post," N. Y.; in 1872 he went to Colorado in one last but vain effort to restore his health. He died in 1873 and is buried in Hollywood Cemetery at Richmond.

His writings, consisting of poems, letters, sketches, and editorials, are found mainly in the "Southern Literary Messenger" and "The Land We Love."


To the brave all homage render,
Weep, ye skies of June!
With a radiance pure and tender,
Shine, oh saddened moon!
"Dead upon the field of glory,"
Hero fit for song and story,

Lies our bold dragoon.

Well they learned, whose hands have slain him,
Braver, knightlier foe

Never fought with Moor nor Paynim,

Rode at Templestowe;

With a mien how high and joyous,

'Gainst the hordes that would destroy us

Went he forth we know.

Never more, alas! shall sabre

Gleam around his crest;

Fought his fight; fulfilled his labour;
Stilled his manly breast.

All unheard sweet Nature's cadence,
Trump of fame and voice of maidens,
Now he takes his rest.

Earth that all too soon hath bound him,
Gently wrap his clay;

Linger lovingly around him,
Light of dying day;
Softly fall the summer showers,
Birds and bees among the flowers
Make the gloom seem gay.

There, throughout the coming ages,
When his sword is rust,

And his deeds in classic pages,

Mindful of her trust,
Shall Virginia, bending lowly,
Still a ceaseless vigil holy
Keep above his dust!


Two armies covered hill and plain,
Where Rappahannock's waters
Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain
Of battle's recent slaughters.

The summer clouds lay pitched like tents
In meads of heavenly azure;

And each dread gun of the elements
Slept in its hid embrasure.

The breeze so softly blew, it made
No forest leaf to quiver,

And the smoke of the random cannonade
Rolled slowly from the river.

And now, where circling hills looked down
With cannon grimly planted,

O'er listless camp and silent town
The golden sunset slanted.

When on the fervid air there came
A strain-now rich, now tender;
The music seemed itself aflame

With day's departing splendor.
A Federal band, which, eve and morn,
Played measures brave and nimble,
Had just struck up, with flute and horn
And lively clash of cymbal.

Down flocked the soldiers to the banks,

Till, margined by its pebbles,

One wooded shore was blue with "Yanks," And one was gray with "Rebels."

Then all was still, and then the band,
With movement light and tricksy,
Made stream and forest, hill and strand
Reverberate with "Dixie."

The conscious stream with burnished glow
Went proudly o'er its pebbles,
But thrilled throughout its deepest flow
With yelling of the Rebels.

Again a pause, and then again

The trumpets pealed sonorous,
And "Yankee Doodle" was the strain
To which the shore gave chorus.

The laughing ripple shoreward flew,
To kiss the shining pebbles;

Loud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue Defiance to the Rebels.

And yet once more the bugles sang
Above the stormy riot;

No shout upon the evening rang-
There reigned a holy quiet.

The sad, slow stream its noiseless flood
Poured o'er the glistening pebbles;
All silent now the Yankees stood,
And silent stood the Rebels.

No unresponsive soul had heard
That plaintive note's appealing,
So deeply "Home Sweet Home" had stirred
The hidden founts of feeling.

Or Blue, or Gray, the soldier sees
As by the wand of fairy,

The cottage 'neath the live-oak trees,
The cabin by the prairie.

Or cold, or warm, his native skies
Bend in their beauty o'er him;
Seen through the tear-mist in his eyes,
His loved ones stand before him.

As fades the iris after rain

In April's tearful weather,
The vision vanished, as the strain
And daylight died together.

But memory, waked by music's art,
Expressed in simplest numbers,
Subdued the sternest Yankee's heart,
Made light the Rebel's slumbers.

And fair the form of music shines,

That bright celestial creature,
Who still, 'mid war's embattled lines,
Gave this one touch of Nature.



DR. CURRY was born in Georgia, but his father removed to Alabama in 1838, and he was reared in that State. After graduation at the University of Georgia and at the Harvard Law School, he began the practice of law in Talladega County, Alabama. He served in the State Legislature and in Congress, and in 1861 entered the Confederate Army.

After the war he was ordained to the Baptist ministry and became president of Howard College, Alabama, and later, professor of English, Philosophy, and Law, in Richmond College, Virginia, which latter position he filled for thirteen years. From 1881 to 1885 he was agent of the Peabody Educational Fund; in 1885 he was appointed minister to Spain, and on his return to America resumed the agency of the Fund. His wise administration and his well-directed efforts have done much to further the cause of education; and his ability and effectiveness as a speaker and writer have given him national fame.

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