Thanks for reminding me to take my umbrella when I leave for Santa Rosa Monday. (Train leaves Union Station Monday afternoon; I arrive in Santa Rosa -- by bus from Martinez -- Wednesday night.)
First we set up a slave nation, then we commit genocide against the Native American. This is the kind of character and pride in America Trump wants back as national policy. I'm sure Trump would like to kill a few reporters, if he thought he could get away with it.
Beautiful day here; blue sky with sunshine and beautiful big cumulus clouds to the north. I see reports of very cold weather back East. [Click] Everybody keep warm, hear?
It is “Freezing Too Cold” here, but we are fine. It was an interesting drive on icy roads in Vermont (including one car off in the median), but by the time we got to NH the roads were dry. But the wind picked up at that point. Still, we made it into Maine without mishap. Temps were in the single digits, with wind chills around -11F. It will be cold tonight and tomorrow, then quite warm over the weekend with a little *gasp!* rain!
Herewith some quotations from a blog I happened upon.[Click] ================================================ “No More of War.” On a recent speaking trip about Embattled Freedom, I carved out some time to visit the old newspapers at the Scranton public library. Always on the hunt for new nuggets and undiscovered information, I came upon a microfilm roll of the weekly Scranton Register from spring of 1865. Two minutes in and its pages were yielding memorable items. The issue of April 27–two weeks after Lee’s surrender at Appomattox–featured a moving poem titled “No More of War.” Written by a “Stella of Lackawanna,” its seven stanzas ache with melancholy:
Sing not for me those mournful songs That tell a nation bowed in tears; My soul is wearied with the wrongs Of these last restless years.
The winds that in the woods make moan– The waves that murmur to the sun– Speak all too well, with burdened tone, Of victories, lost or won.
And down the vale where fallen men, Throb out a brave life’s parting breath, A flash of gleaming steel–and then, The fearful wail of death.
Rachels are weeping everywhere, All the dull night their sobbings fall; One dirge of mourning floods the air– I’m weary of it all.
Let me forget that enemies fling Black shadows o’er my country’s light, But rather listen while you sing, Of something else to night.
Trill those old familiar lays, That, in the twilight, you and I Once loved so well, in other days– Sweet other days gone by.
When only on historic page The victor and the vanquished met, And freedom’s holy heritage All pure and stainless yet.
This woman’s pen channeled the anguish of thousands on the home front. I’d never heard of Stella of Lackawanna, but if I’d lived in the Scranton area back then, I would have. She was Harriet Gertrude Watres, mother of a Lackawanna Valley bigwig who was the namesake of Scranton’s cavernous old Watres Armory. I was stunned to see that she also was the sister of Horace Hollister, who is featured in my book for his late-life regrets about racism (as told on Page 188). From 1850 until her death in 1886, Harriet Watres penned dozens of poems that ran in the local press. She was a Lincoln loyalist so I found it surprising that her “No More of War” elegy appeared in the Lincoln-hating Register. Turns out she had submitted it to a Republican paper and the Register reprinted it–apparently finding that its sentiments transcended politics. =============================================== Jim Remsen’s History Nuggets November 14, 2017 / Jim Remsen / 0 Comments
“The Heroes of America.” That was the name taken by a group of Unionists — Southerners who rejected secession — early in the Civil War. According to historian Eric Foner, some 10,000 Unionist men in western and central North Carolina formed the Heroes of America and leapt into action. They actually set up an “underground railroad” to help spirit fellow Unionist yeomen to Federal lines. This is one of the many memorable facts I’ve been reading about in Foner’s magisterial Reconstruction: America’s Unfinished Revolution, 1863-1877. Foner says the Heroes exemplified the worsening class resentment in southern society. He cites a North Carolina newspaper editor’s words to that effect: “This great national strife originated with men and measures that were … opposed to a democratic form of government … The fact is, these bombastic, highfalutin aristocratic fools have been in the habit of driving negroes and poor helpless white people until they think … that they themselves are superior; [and] hate, deride and suspicion the poor.” As Foner notes, white yeomen ended up comprising the bulk of Confederate troops — as well as most of its deserters and draft resisters. ================================================
Thank you, Alan, for that moving poem. It is rather remarkable, by today's standards (for lack of a better word) that a partizan news outlet would publish something on its merits, viewing it as "transcending politics." How refreshingly civilized.
Cat ~~ Was it true of the American Revolution? Of WW II? And most significantly, I have never heard of any other war where this was openly stated by one side's troops.
“None can escape its stroke.” President Trump’s apparently brusque words to a soldier’s widow — “he knew what he signed up for, but I guess it hurts anyway” — reminded me of a more tender and effective public condolence delivered centuries ago. The solemn duty that day fell to Timothy Pickering, President Washington’s emissary at a peace council with Native American leaders in 1790 in northern Pennsylvania. Several Seneca trappers had been murdered earlier that year by drunken whites, and Pickering’s assignment was to properly honor the grieving families and thus keep the Seneca warriors from taking up arms. Here is what Pickering declared at the tense treaty ground: “Mothers, brothers and sisters, let me endeavor to assuage your grief. You enjoy the satisfaction of remembering the good qualities of your sons and brothers, of reflecting that they were worthy men, and of hearing their names mentioned with honor. Let these considerations afford you some comfort. Death, you know, is the common lot of all mankind, and none can escape its stroke. Some, indeed, live many years, till, like well-ripened corn, they wither and bend down their heads. But multitudes fall in infancy and childhood, like the tender shooting corn nipped by untimely frosts. Others again grown up to manhood are then cut off, while full of sap, and flourishing in all the vigor of life. The latter, it seems, was the state of our two deceased brothers. But my friends, they are gone, and we cannot bring them back. When the Great Spirit shall order it, we must follow them: but they cannot return to us. This is the unalterable course of things, and it is our duty patiently to bear our misfortunes.” Pickering recorded his poetic (and successful) words in his journal. I was pleased to include them as a highlight of my 2014 historical novel Visions of Teaoga.
Showing that a man can be a man while being intelligent, sensitive and eloquent, as opposed to Trumps apparent view that manliness consists of being stupid, crude and boorish.
The festive bird roasted considerably faster this year because I put an oven thermometer in to verify the oven setting--and discovered the actual temperature was about thirty degrees lower than the displayed temperature. which I compensated for.
There was just a transient touch of frost on the north side of the neighbors' garage across the street day before last, and the day before that. No need for parka, greatcoat or anorak.
Naomi and I will go see a movie this evening.
Since the chance of finding a Honda Fit of an agreeable sort seems not to be in the cards for awhile, we will make do with one car for now; heck, we might get used to it. No schedule conflicts apparent either now or next semester.
Federal investigators probing evident Whitaker Hatch Act violations [Click]
ReplyDeleteThe EU, China, Mexico, Norway, Russia and Canada launch WTO cases against Trump’s aluminum and steel import tariffs. [Click]
Rake America Great Again [Click] Gallery. And the northern part of California is looking at a couple weeks of mostly rainy weather.
Thanks for reminding me to take my umbrella when I leave for Santa Rosa Monday. (Train leaves Union Station Monday afternoon; I arrive in Santa Rosa -- by bus from Martinez -- Wednesday night.)
DeleteFirst we set up a slave nation, then we commit genocide against the Native American. This is the kind of character and pride in America Trump wants back as national policy. I'm sure Trump would like to kill a few reporters, if he thought he could get away with it.
ReplyDeleteWild turkey outwits minions of the law in rhode Island [Click]
ReplyDeleteBeautiful day here; blue sky with sunshine and beautiful big cumulus clouds to the north. I see reports of very cold weather back East. [Click] Everybody keep warm, hear?
Also a beautiful, sunny day here. But, yes, record or near record cold for the date.
DeleteIt is “Freezing Too Cold” here, but we are fine. It was an interesting drive on icy roads in Vermont (including one car off in the median), but by the time we got to NH the roads were dry. But the wind picked up at that point. Still, we made it into Maine without mishap.
DeleteTemps were in the single digits, with wind chills around -11F.
It will be cold tonight and tomorrow, then quite warm over the weekend with a little *gasp!* rain!
Quite warm means 38-40F by day; 20s at night.
DeleteHerewith some quotations from a blog I happened upon.[Click]
ReplyDelete================================================
“No More of War.” On a recent speaking trip about Embattled Freedom, I carved out some time to visit the old newspapers at the Scranton public library. Always on the hunt for new nuggets and undiscovered information, I came upon a microfilm roll of the weekly Scranton Register from spring of 1865. Two minutes in and its pages were yielding memorable items. The issue of April 27–two weeks after Lee’s surrender at Appomattox–featured a moving poem titled “No More of War.” Written by a “Stella of Lackawanna,” its seven stanzas ache with melancholy:
Sing not for me those mournful songs
That tell a nation bowed in tears;
My soul is wearied with the wrongs
Of these last restless years.
The winds that in the woods make moan–
The waves that murmur to the sun–
Speak all too well, with burdened tone,
Of victories, lost or won.
And down the vale where fallen men,
Throb out a brave life’s parting breath,
A flash of gleaming steel–and then,
The fearful wail of death.
Rachels are weeping everywhere,
All the dull night their sobbings fall;
One dirge of mourning floods the air–
I’m weary of it all.
Let me forget that enemies fling
Black shadows o’er my country’s light,
But rather listen while you sing,
Of something else to night.
Trill those old familiar lays,
That, in the twilight, you and I
Once loved so well, in other days–
Sweet other days gone by.
When only on historic page
The victor and the vanquished met,
And freedom’s holy heritage
All pure and stainless yet.
This woman’s pen channeled the anguish of thousands on the home front. I’d never heard of Stella of Lackawanna, but if I’d lived in the Scranton area back then, I would have. She was Harriet Gertrude Watres, mother of a Lackawanna Valley bigwig who was the namesake of Scranton’s cavernous old Watres Armory. I was stunned to see that she also was the sister of Horace Hollister, who is featured in my book for his late-life regrets about racism (as told on Page 188). From 1850 until her death in 1886, Harriet Watres penned dozens of poems that ran in the local press. She was a Lincoln loyalist so I found it surprising that her “No More of War” elegy appeared in the Lincoln-hating Register. Turns out she had submitted it to a Republican paper and the Register reprinted it–apparently finding that its sentiments transcended politics.
===============================================
Jim Remsen’s History Nuggets
November 14, 2017 / Jim Remsen / 0 Comments
“The Heroes of America.” That was the name taken by a group of Unionists — Southerners who rejected secession — early in the Civil War. According to historian Eric Foner, some 10,000 Unionist men in western and central North Carolina formed the Heroes of America and leapt into action. They actually set up an “underground railroad” to help spirit fellow Unionist yeomen to Federal lines. This is one of the many memorable facts I’ve been reading about in Foner’s magisterial Reconstruction: America’s Unfinished Revolution, 1863-1877. Foner says the Heroes exemplified the worsening class resentment in southern society. He cites a North Carolina newspaper editor’s words to that effect: “This great national strife originated with men and measures that were … opposed to a democratic form of government … The fact is, these bombastic, highfalutin aristocratic fools have been in the habit of driving negroes and poor helpless white people until they think … that they themselves are superior; [and] hate, deride and suspicion the poor.” As Foner notes, white yeomen ended up comprising the bulk of Confederate troops — as well as most of its deserters and draft resisters.
================================================
Re that latter: "A rich man's war and a poor man's fight."
DeleteThanks for this, Alan!
DeleteThank you, Alan, for that moving poem. It is rather remarkable, by today's standards (for lack of a better word) that a partizan news outlet would publish something on its merits, viewing it as "transcending politics." How refreshingly civilized.
DeleteBill, doesn't that define most wars?
Cat ~~ Was it true of the American Revolution? Of WW II? And most significantly, I have never heard of any other war where this was openly stated by one side's troops.
DeleteAnd another from the same place:
ReplyDelete“None can escape its stroke.” President Trump’s apparently brusque words to a soldier’s widow — “he knew what he signed up for, but I guess it hurts anyway” — reminded me of a more tender and effective public condolence delivered centuries ago. The solemn duty that day fell to Timothy Pickering, President Washington’s emissary at a peace council with Native American leaders in 1790 in northern Pennsylvania. Several Seneca trappers had been murdered earlier that year by drunken whites, and Pickering’s assignment was to properly honor the grieving families and thus keep the Seneca warriors from taking up arms. Here is what Pickering declared at the tense treaty ground: “Mothers, brothers and sisters, let me endeavor to assuage your grief. You enjoy the satisfaction of remembering the good qualities of your sons and brothers, of reflecting that they were worthy men, and of hearing their names mentioned with honor. Let these considerations afford you some comfort. Death, you know, is the common lot of all mankind, and none can escape its stroke. Some, indeed, live many years, till, like well-ripened corn, they wither and bend down their heads. But multitudes fall in infancy and childhood, like the tender shooting corn nipped by untimely frosts. Others again grown up to manhood are then cut off, while full of sap, and flourishing in all the vigor of life. The latter, it seems, was the state of our two deceased brothers. But my friends, they are gone, and we cannot bring them back. When the Great Spirit shall order it, we must follow them: but they cannot return to us. This is the unalterable course of things, and it is our duty patiently to bear our misfortunes.” Pickering recorded his poetic (and successful) words in his journal. I was pleased to include them as a highlight of my 2014 historical novel Visions of Teaoga.
Showing that a man can be a man while being intelligent, sensitive and eloquent, as opposed to Trumps apparent view that manliness consists of being stupid, crude and boorish.
DeleteThe festive bird roasted considerably faster this year because I put an oven thermometer in to verify the oven setting--and discovered the actual temperature was about thirty degrees lower than the displayed temperature. which I compensated for.
ReplyDeleteOh, and on first glance at the illustration for today's thread, I mistook the papoose board for an Autoharp...
ReplyDelete😆
DeleteThere was just a transient touch of frost on the north side of the neighbors' garage across the street day before last, and the day before that. No need for parka, greatcoat or anorak.
ReplyDeleteNaomi and I will go see a movie this evening.
Since the chance of finding a Honda Fit of an agreeable sort seems not to be in the cards for awhile, we will make do with one car for now; heck, we might get used to it. No schedule conflicts apparent either now or next semester.