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Browsing named entities in a specific section of Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 11. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones). Search the whole document.

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Chairman (search for this): chapter 4
ry. A land that wears a laurel crown may be fair to see; but twine a few sad cypress leaves around the brow of any land, and be that land barren, beautiless and bleak, it becomes lovely in its consecrated coronet of sorrow, and it wins the sympathy of the heart and of history. * * * The triumphs of might are transient—they pass and are forgotten—the sufferings of right are graven deepest on the chronicle of nations. Rev. H. M. Jackson responded as follows, amidst frequent applause: Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen.—I esteem myself highly honored in being permitted to mingle with you on this festal occasion, to share with you in the reminiscence of events in which I had no part, and to join in the commemoration of a past of which I know but little—save by the hearing of the ear. I could not help, you know, being born a few years too late; but, while the mere accident of birth debarred me from participation in the glory and horror of war, I thank you that you admit me to share in th
Hannibal (search for this): chapter 4
not so long as unwearied time shall count out the years to mortal man! There is a law which governs the compilation of history, gentlemen,—a law which is succinctly stated in this sentiment to which I am responding: The triumphs of might are transient—they pass and are forgotten—the sufferings of right are graven deepest on the chronicles of nations. Rome made the literature of her day; Carthage made none; Rome was the victorious power; Carthage was obliterated:—and yet, the figure of Hannibal stands out, luminously clear, from the misty background of those times, while Scipio Africanus is known to the ear only as a name, and the heroic defence of Carthage, when the women of that devoted city plaited their long tresses into bow-strings for the archers, and beat their jewels into arrow points, remains among the inspirations of history. Or, to take more modern instance, England made the literature of her time—Scotland made none; England conquered—Scotland was overcome; and
Soldier Life (search for this): chapter 4
h, The shaft is in the stone. But, Sir, I am reminded by the presence of two guests at your banquet, that it cannot be truthfully said the South is making no literature. The presence here (if I may be pardoned personal allusion) of the Author of the Life of Lee, who as Editor of the Southern Historical Society Papers, is accumulating the material for the future historian—a work the importance of which I fear we do not duly appreciate—and the presence here of the Author of Minutiae of Soldier Life, a book which preserves for us, in all the delicious freshness of local colouring, that interior life of the soldier which is the best index of his character and the best indication of his stalwart and sturdy fortitude, confute the allegation. And yet, perhaps, Sir, the best history is the unwritten history. The best schools of history are around the hearth-stone. The best lessons of patriotism, of veneration for the past, of true and laudable appreciation of noble deeds, are receive
Robert Bruce (search for this): chapter 4
the ear only as a name, and the heroic defence of Carthage, when the women of that devoted city plaited their long tresses into bow-strings for the archers, and beat their jewels into arrow points, remains among the inspirations of history. Or, to take more modern instance, England made the literature of her time—Scotland made none; England conquered—Scotland was overcome; and yet none remembers the victorious Edward——he has passed and is forgotten—but the names of William Wallace and Robert Bruce are graven ineffaceably upon the Chronicles of Nations and the story of their deeds and their sufferings have been strangely intertwined with all that is noblest and best in human action. Nothing lives, either in story or in song, but that which appeals to the heart of humanity; and nothing on God's earth so moves the sympathies of man as when the weak are seen defending their honor, their principles or their homes—against the strong. The instincts of man incline to the overpower
Scipio Africanus (search for this): chapter 4
ch governs the compilation of history, gentlemen,—a law which is succinctly stated in this sentiment to which I am responding: The triumphs of might are transient—they pass and are forgotten—the sufferings of right are graven deepest on the chronicles of nations. Rome made the literature of her day; Carthage made none; Rome was the victorious power; Carthage was obliterated:—and yet, the figure of Hannibal stands out, luminously clear, from the misty background of those times, while Scipio Africanus is known to the ear only as a name, and the heroic defence of Carthage, when the women of that devoted city plaited their long tresses into bow-strings for the archers, and beat their jewels into arrow points, remains among the inspirations of history. Or, to take more modern instance, England made the literature of her time—Scotland made none; England conquered—Scotland was overcome; and yet none remembers the victorious Edward——he has passed and is forgotten—but the name
H. Melville Jackson (search for this): chapter 4
Our cause in history. By Rev. H. Melville Jackson, of Richmond. [The following eloquent response to a toast at the Howitzers's Banquet in Richmond, Dec. 13th 1882, takes a view of our cause in History that is hopeful, and well worthy of preservation. It only needs to be emphasized, that we must see to it, that the facts are preserved.] Toast-our cause in history. Sentiment.—A land without ruins is a land without memories—a land without memories is a land without history. A land thaely in its consecrated coronet of sorrow, and it wins the sympathy of the heart and of history. * * * The triumphs of might are transient—they pass and are forgotten—the sufferings of right are graven deepest on the chronicle of nations. Rev. H. M. Jackson responded as follows, amidst frequent applause: Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen.—I esteem myself highly honored in being permitted to mingle with you on this festal occasion, to share with you in the reminiscence of events in which I had n
Robert Edward Lee (search for this): chapter 4
e of peace, memory reproduces, in mimic minature, to kindle again the smouldering fires in the soldier's breast. It is however, Sir, the duty, as it is the pleasure, of man, to look both backward and forward; and therefore, while memory plays her part to-night in recalling the past, you have directed that we should project our thoughts into the future to inquire how that Cause, which still remains dear to your hearts, shall fare at the hands of the historian. It has been said of General Robt. E. Lee that he often expressed the fear lest posterity should not know the odds against which he fought. What then was in the mind of the great warrior? Was he apprehensive lest his military fame should suffer? Was he fearful that his name might not be written large on the annals of history? All who knew that man know full well no such thought found harbour in his breast. No solicitude respecting his future fame disturbed the serenity of a mind lifted above the petty ambitions of person
Robert E. Lee (search for this): chapter 4
consign the heritage of heroism you have bequeathed the world, with confident expectation of justice, to the hands of the annalist. In seeds of laurel in the earth, The blossom of your fame is blown; And somewhere waiting for its birth, The shaft is in the stone. But, Sir, I am reminded by the presence of two guests at your banquet, that it cannot be truthfully said the South is making no literature. The presence here (if I may be pardoned personal allusion) of the Author of the Life of Lee, who as Editor of the Southern Historical Society Papers, is accumulating the material for the future historian—a work the importance of which I fear we do not duly appreciate—and the presence here of the Author of Minutiae of Soldier Life, a book which preserves for us, in all the delicious freshness of local colouring, that interior life of the soldier which is the best index of his character and the best indication of his stalwart and sturdy fortitude, confute the allegation. And yet,
William Wallace (search for this): chapter 4
icanus is known to the ear only as a name, and the heroic defence of Carthage, when the women of that devoted city plaited their long tresses into bow-strings for the archers, and beat their jewels into arrow points, remains among the inspirations of history. Or, to take more modern instance, England made the literature of her time—Scotland made none; England conquered—Scotland was overcome; and yet none remembers the victorious Edward——he has passed and is forgotten—but the names of William Wallace and Robert Bruce are graven ineffaceably upon the Chronicles of Nations and the story of their deeds and their sufferings have been strangely intertwined with all that is noblest and best in human action. Nothing lives, either in story or in song, but that which appeals to the heart of humanity; and nothing on God's earth so moves the sympathies of man as when the weak are seen defending their honor, their principles or their homes—against the strong. The instincts of man incli
December 13th, 1882 AD (search for this): chapter 4
Our cause in history. By Rev. H. Melville Jackson, of Richmond. [The following eloquent response to a toast at the Howitzers's Banquet in Richmond, Dec. 13th 1882, takes a view of our cause in History that is hopeful, and well worthy of preservation. It only needs to be emphasized, that we must see to it, that the facts are preserved.] Toast-our cause in history. Sentiment.—A land without ruins is a land without memories—a land without memories is a land without history. A land that wears a laurel crown may be fair to see; but twine a few sad cypress leaves around the brow of any land, and be that land barren, beautiless and bleak, it becomes lovely in its consecrated coronet of sorrow, and it wins the sympathy of the heart and of history. * * * The triumphs of might are transient—they pass and are forgotten—the sufferings of right are graven deepest on the chronicle of nations. Rev. H. M. Jackson responded as follows, amidst frequent applause: Mr. Chairman and Gen