MR. ALBERT ROBERTS "JOHN HAPPY."

The delightfully familiar signature "John Happy" to veterans who enjoyed humor of the southern press a third of a century ago, will make the picture of Mr. Albert Roberts in his mature life of special interest. The sketch of his career should be preserved, too, for no other journalist in its desolated area from '65 on to days of prosperity was so able an advocate of the cause of our entire people as Albert Roberts in the Nashvile Republican Banner.

The editor of the VETERAN has ever recalled his

broadly national appeal in behalf of the southern people with gratitude and pride. The character is in no sense local. He belonged to all of our southland. The VETERAN gives pathetic tribute to his noble life. Reread his "Songs and Sonnets of the South" in the May VETERAN.

Mr. Geo. E. Purvis, of Chattanooga, who was an intimate friend and associate, sends the following:

It can never be known how general and deep is the sorrow caused by the death of Albert Roberts. Men will speak of his loss-I mean their loss in his death-long after the grass and flowers have overgrown his grave.

Modest and retiring as his nature was, he yet was well and widely known by people in all ranks of life. Those who knew him intimately find it difficult to realize fully that he is gone, never to be seen again among us. It is almost impossible to associate the idea of death with him at all. His nature was a bright and sunny one; his sympathies

were genuine, deep and broad, and he was the very life and joy of every circle about him.

And this was characteristic of him away back in his youth and mine. Many a time when we would be setting type side by side, he would convulse the whole force of compositors, including his father, who for the time would be our foreman or co-worker, albeit, he was a sober, somewhat stern man of the solid English type, not often given to levity.

I remember a night in the winter of '65, just after the war, when his father, he and I, all occupied the same sleeping appartment on Rue Deaderick. The old gentleman had preceded us to the room and we supposed him sound asleep. One of us was just ering it, when Albert, in the most ridiculously huabout being married and the other seriously considmorous manner, began discussing THE BANNER'S ability to support so many new additional business partners with so light a bank account, and made some very funny allusions to his father who had been, and was then, our capitalist and financial stay. snort of suppressed laughter from his bed made us aware that he was wide awake, and had been listening and laughing all the time. He had not the power of resisting Albert, and grew to rely upon his judgment in business matters, and at the last came to be of all his most sincere admirer. Looking back over the ten prosperous years we were so intimately associated in business, many reminiscences of him and his speeches occur to me that would make good reading for his friends. He carried his sunshine into every transaction, and it was a pleasure to meet him always.

One morning during the life of the old REPUBLI CAN BANNER, of blessed memory, our mutual friend and modest gentleman, Maj. Falconnet, called, as was his habit when in the city, for we were all fond of him. When about leaving, Albert asked him to call again. He turned, with a shade of annoyance on his face, and said:

"Mr. Roberts, I wish you could prevail upon the reporters to cease making personals of me. If you do not, I will not come here any more."

Albert instantly replied: "Well, Major, there are plenty of people who are willing to pay to have those things go in; and when we find a man who does not like it, he will have to pay to keep them out!"

One of the greatest pleasures Albert had in life was to give pleasure to others. I believe at times he was as often surprised into laughter at what he himself would say, as any of his hearers, and would join as heartily in the mirth that would flow at his witty and humorous speeches. I have seen him for days with Artemus Ward, the funniest man it has ever been my fortune to meet, and the two would laugh with and at each other until our sides were sore. Albert was always much wittier and more charming in his talk than with his pen. Somehow the conscious presence of the public when writing, caused a sort of veil to be drawn between them which dimmed his wit and made it more timid, checking its flow.

He illustrated in his own person, however, the truth of the saying that the home of laughter is close alongside the fountain of tears, for no friend in distress ever sought or needed his sympathy,

without finding it as ready and generous as he could desire.

Ah, what a pity but that such a man could outlive all his friends and intimates, brightening and cheering their lives to the last!

How quickly and entirely he responded to all demands of whatever character made upon him, from seeing a friend through a duel or difficulty, to writing a humorous travesty with a view of raising revenue to "buy all the cork legs in Cork" for his unfortunate fellow-Confederates! My mind reverts to the Old Adelphi when it was crowded night after night from pit to dome, ringing with laughter and applause invoked by his genius and fancy! Some of the boys who were the actors on that memorable stage yet live to remember and laugh; and many others of them have preceded him to that dim, unknown, undefined, undiscovered land to give him cordial greeting and loving welcome, if such things are allowed. And who shall say they are not? The hope of an immortality an intellectual existence beyond-"springs eternal in the human breast;" and I believe if it exists for any man, it exists and is a fact for Albert Roberts.

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He was a true man in every relation of life dutiful, faithful son, a true brother and friend, an affectionate husband and father, and a devout lover of his country.

I'M CONSCRIPTED, SMITH, CONSCRIPTED."

་ ་་

This is one of John Happy's humorous sketches "not by Gen. Wm. B. Lytle, or any other man."" I'm conscripted, Smith, conscriptedEbbs the subterfuges fast, And the sub-enrolling marshals

Gather with the evening blast

Let thine arms, O! Smith, support me,
Hush your gab, and elose your ear,
Conscript grabbers close upon you,
Hunting for you-far and near.
Though my scarred, rheumatic "trotters"
Bear me limping short no more ;
And my shattered constitution
Won't exempt me as before;
Though the provost guard surround me,
Prompt to do their master's will,

I must to the "front" to perish,
Die the great conscripted still.

Let not the seizer's servile minions,
Mock the lion thus laid low-

'Twas no fancy drink that "siewed" him-
Whisky straight-out struck the blow.
Here, then, pillowed on thy bosom,

Ere he's hurried quite away,
Him, who, drunk with bust-head whisky,
Madly threw himself away.

Should the base, plebeian rabble
Dare assail me as I roam,
Seek my noble squaw, Octavia,
Weeping in her widowed home;
Seek her, say the guards have got me
Under their protecting wings.
Going to make me join the army.
Where the shell and minie sings.

I'm conscripted, Smith, conscripted-
Hark! you hear that grabber's cry-

Run, old Smith, my boy, they'll catch you-
Take you to the front to die.

Fare thee well! I go to battle.

There to die, decay and swell.

Lockhart and Dick Taylor guard thee,

Sweet Octavia-Smith!-farewell.

THE CONFEDERATE BATTLE-FLAG.

Kate Field wrote from Washington, stating: Speaking of Gen. Johnston, I am reminded of the explanation he once gave me of the origin of the Confederate battle-flag: "At the battle of Bull Run, the stars and bars' proved a failure because they were so much like the Union colors. Indeed, both armies mistook their enemies for friends, and vice versa. After the battle I resolved to discard this flag, and called for each regiment to procure its state colors. This they were unable to do, and I asked the army for new designs. Among those presented, one by Gen. Beauregard was chosen, and I altered this only in making it square instead of oblong. This flag was afterwards adopted by the Confederate armies generally. It was a Greek cross of blue with white stars on the blue bars." This flag, by the way, was designed by Coi. Walton, of Louisiana, and presented to Gen. Beauregard.

THAT SILVER MOON BANNER.

Dr. J. S. Carothers, Shannon, Miss., replies to the inquiry of comrade J. M. Arnold, of Newport, Ky., as to why Cleburne's division bore a different battle-flag from all other commands in the army:

We repeatedly heard during the war that among the many designs submitted to the War Department for battle flags, this one, the full orbed silver moon in a blue field surrounded by a white border, was designed by Brig.-Genl. W. J. Hardee, who organized and commanded the troops, afterwards commanded by Major-General S. B. Buckner, and better known at the close of the war as Cleburne's Division, and that it was by him adopted as the ensign of his chivalric troops, this right being a special grant by the authorities at Richmond for his Division only.

I was among the oldest soldiers of that command, being a member of Company B, Third Battalion, First Brigade of First Division, Army of the Cumberland, C. S. A.." as our orders read in camp at Bowling Green, Ky., in 1861-2, and remember during the war to have heard Lieutenant-General Hardee speak most kindly of the boys who marched and battled under the folds of this old banner.

Cleburne's and Cheatham's Division were the Eng and Cheng, Siamese twins, of this Army of Tennessee. I well remember the devices used on the retrograde movement in Georgia, by the officers in these two commands to control the men and disabuse their minds of the demoralization of a retreat. They would come quietly down the trenches at night, arouse the men and tell them we were going to relieve "Mars Frank's" boys who had been roughly handled, probably repulsed, and our place would be filled by other troops. Genl. Cheatham's boys were told that they were to go to retake works we had been driven from, etc., and we would not learn the true facts until a new line or complete swapping of our flanks, to checkmate a flank movement, was effected.

Doubtless "Mars Frank's" boys, who marched under the cross of St. Andrew, and Pat's boys, under the full silver moon, will recall these ruses.

WORK OF A SOUTHERN WOMAN.

The wife of Col. John Milledge, of Georgia, through whose administration the handsome monument on first page was erected in Atlanta, deserves tribute in the VETERAN.

MRS. JOHN MILLEDGE.

In connection with the sketch of title page monument in this August VETERAN, brief account is given of Mrs. John Milledge, who was President of the Ladies' Memorial Association for about eleven years, and who was transferred to her reward April 25, '95. The VETERAN then failed of proper notice.

There was no other service to her so agreeable and so sacred as to honor Confederate dead; and she

was blessed with the sight of the magnificent structure, that she did so much to secure, at its formal dedication in 1894.

While the enterprising press of Atlanta gave in connection with the occasion pictures of many of her lady associates, no presentation of her picture was ever given to the public before this; and it seems fitting in this enduring form to portray the gentle, genial features, and so to supply them to those who will cherish her noble deeds throughout our beloved Southland, to all the other states of the Union, and to devoted Confederates abroad.

There was never, perhaps, in the history of Georgia so much honor by the press to any woman.

Mrs. Milledge was a native of Richmond, Va.; and was in fair young womanhood when the great struggle of the South for separate independence was made. In a letter to Mr. J. D. Carter, who carried to her mementoes from the grave of Jefferson Davis, while expressing her gratitude, she wrote:

"In my girlhood I lived in Richmond, and was present at the inauguration of President Davis there. I met him in his own home, and worshipped God, Sunday after Sunday, very near to him. I always admired him greatly, and most in his days of adversity, after failure blasted all of our prospects.

* * * We have thousands of names of men, who died in the hospitals here in Atlanta and were buried in Oakland; yet the graves of only about nine hundred can be identified. There was no money to keep even the wooden headboards in place for years, until recently, when our City Council appropriated $200 a year for ten years, for the Confederate cemetery. That, with the proceeds of the veterans' fair, enabled us to supply marble headstones. * I deserve no credit for what I have done. I was in Richmond, when Gen. Lee surrendered, and heard the wail that went up from the cots of the poor fellows maimed for life; and have ever felt that the least we can do is not to forget them."

In his address at the dedication of the monument, Hon. H. H. Carlton said:

* * "When but a girl, with the warm heart of youth, which went out in immeasurable sympathy and never-tiring devotion to our southern heroes, living in close proximity to the battle fields of Virginia, where she, daily and almost hourly, witnessed the trials and tribulations, the sickness and sufferings of the Confederate soldiers, she made a silent and solemn vow, that so long as she lived and so far as she could contribute, these brave men should never be disowned, dishonored or forgotten. Ah, how true and how faithful she has been to that vow, not only in giving her best energies to her noble work, but evidencing in the highest degree her never-ending love and devotion to the Confederate soldier by giving her heart and her hand to as gallant and knightly an ex-Confederate soldier as ever bore arms or drew the sword of combat, the splendid Marshal of this day.

The funeral of Mrs. Milledge was, perhaps, the most noted occasion in the records of the state to her many honored women. The Governor, the Judges of Supreme Court and statehouse officers were honorary pall-bearers. The military of the city attended as a special escort.

At a meeting of the Confederate Veteran Association for the formal reception of the portrait of Mrs. Milledge impressive services were held. Col. Albert Cox, Judge R. L. Rogers, Gen. C. A. Evans, Dr. J. Wm. Jones, and others made interesting speeches.

An Atlanta friend, who has been from the first an earnest advocate of the VETERAN, writes: "While the beautiful tribute was being paid to her by the orator of the day, every one felt it would be the last time on earth that she would take part in such a scene; and our fears were realized, because the day before the anniversary of that day, she went to sleep.

* * * * * In 1884, when she was elected president of the Ladies' Memorial Association, there was not a dollar in the treasury, and the wooden headboards which had been put up about fifteen years before were rotting down. These head

The monument erected above it by "Xariffa," the sweet southern poetess, of the Crescent City. The Richmond Enquirer soon after the war contained the story in a letter from Stribling Springs, Va., July 19. '71:

"In a secluded vale, a mile from Stribling, sleeps in eternal repose one of that gallant Twelfth Georgia Regiment, commanded by Colonel, afterwards that brave Major-General, Edward Johnston. The hand of piety and patriotism neglected to remove the remains with others of the heroic dead to Staunton. In an excursion this morning with a large party of ladies and gentlemen, the grave was discovered by "Xariffa," Mrs. Mary Ashley Townsend, of New Orleans, whose charming, piquant pen has so often illuminated the sunny, southern hearth with "Thoughts that breathe.' Above this lonely grave her gifted pen impromptu sketched these beautiful lines, which will find a thrill in every southern heart. These stanzas form such a rare exception to the common newspaper poetry, that I know you will give it to your readers without hesitation."

A GEORGIA VOLUNTEER.

Far up the lonely mountain side,
My wandering footsteps led ;

The moss lay thick beneath my feet,

The pine sighed overhead;

The trace of a dismantled fort

Lay in the forest nave,

And in the shadow near my path

I saw a soldier's grave.

The bramble wrestled with the weed
Upon the lonely mound;

The simple headboard rudely writ
Had rotted to the ground;

I raised it with a reverent band,

From dust its words to clear,

But time had blotted all but these,
"A Georgia Volunteer."

I saw the toad and scaly snake
From tangled coverts start,

And hide themselves among the weeds
Above the dead man's heart;

But undisturbed in sleep profound,

Unheeding, there he lay,

His coffin but the mountain soil,

His shroud Confederate gray.

I heard the Shenandoah roll
Along the vale below;

I saw the Alleghanies rise
Towards the realms of snow;

The "Valley Campaign" rose to mind,
Its leader's name
and then,

I knew the sleeper had been one

Of Stonewall Jackson's men.

Yet whence he came, what lip shall say?

What tongue will ever tell

What desolated hearths and hearts

Have been because he fell?

What sad eyed maiden braids her hair

Her hair which he held dear,

One lock of which, perchance, lies with

The Georgia Volunteer?

What mother with long watching eyes,

And white lips cold and dumb,

Waits with appalling patience for

Her darling boy to come?

Her boy whose mountain grave swells up,

But one of many a scar

Cut on the face of our fair land

By gory-handed war!

What fights he fought, what wounds he wore, And all unknown to fame;

Remember on his lonely grave

There is not e'en a name!

That he fought well, and bravely, too,

And held his country dear,

We know, else he had never been

"A Georgia Volunteer."

He sleeps-what need to question now

If he were wrong or right?

He knows, ere this, whose cause was just
In God the Father's sight.

He weilds no warlike weapons now,

Returns no foeman's thrust-
Who, but a coward would revile
An honest soldier's dust?

Roll, Shenandoah, proudly roll
Adown thy rocky glen!
Above thee lies the grave of one
Of Stonewall Jackson's men!
Beneath the cedar and the pine
In solitude austere,

Unknown, unnamed, forgotten lies
"A Georgia Volunteer."

A CONFEDERATE CEMETERY. FROM THE PYTHIAN PERIOD, NASHVILLE.

With one bright lane of native pines
Mild art is here content;

A simple slab each grave defines—
No more has beauty lent.

But some one, filled with southern pride,
Among the rest has led

A shaft with this sweet thought supplied:

"To the unknown dead."

The soldier who this grove supplied.
That buried here might be

The southern dead, now sleeps beside
His buried chivalry."

Hon. A. G. Hawkins, Huntingdon, Tenn.: During the war, while fording the Tennessee River at Mussle Shoals with Col. Green's battalion of cavalry, my horse became muley and fell, leaving me standing in the midst of the river. He went hastily back to the shore, from which we entered. I forded the river on foot, walking between and holding on the stirrup of a soldier friend on each side. The favor of their addresses will very much oblige me.