Cp370.72| 1?l8c I '^JiliLji- Confederate Congress J. G. Ramsay " v, \\ i£S§ MaWWMMW ^ V "'J i# ; i Cfje liorarp Of t|)E - * UniMmity of J13ort& Carolina Collection of j|2ortl) Catoltniana ^LSis book toad prwntto further communication to make; that in his recent message he had fully explained his views as to the legislation needed by the country; * * * but to the full extent of his power and the resources placed at his disposal all might feel assured of his purpose, faithfully to protect and defend the country. Congress then adjourned to meet in the following October. But it was to meet no more. In sixteen days Richmond was evacuated — the Confederate stores and f STATE NORMAL MAGAZINE. 83 warehouses were set on fire, against the protest of the citizens, by our retreating forces; the legislature of Virginia was on its way to another seat for its deliberations, and the President, with a portion of his Cabinet and all the coin of the government, was hastening toward the savannas of the South. Seven days more and Lee had laid down his sword at Appomattox and the end had come, not alone of Congress, but of the Confederacy. The bravest now saw what the wisest had long foreseen — an end of strife and bloodshed, for which the friends of peace had longed and prayed. Salisbury, N. C, March 22, 1900. OPPORTUNITY. The key of yesterday I threw away And now too late Before to-morrow's close-locked gate Helpless I stand — in vain to pray! In vain to sorrow i Only the key of yesterday Unlocks tc-morrdw. PEISCILLA LEONARD. 84 STATE NORMAL MAGAZINE. ZACK THOMPSON, THE BLACKSMITH. I,UCY McGEE GI.ENN. The dingy little blacksmith shop stands at the foot of the hill behind the village graveyard, its only avenue of approach being the narrow road that winds down the hill to the left of the old rock wall over which the tall tombstones stare through the long days and nights. A little distance from the shop may be seen the home of the blacksmith. Here the usual order of things seems to be reversed. The vegetable garden instead of being in the rear is just in front of the house. In fact, the corn patch extends to the very doorstep, while the pumpkin vines that twine about the cornstalks climb up over the porch and facing of the door and hang a big yellow pumpkin on the door knob. The house can scarcely be seen from the front, it is such an insignificant thing compared with the corn and the pumpkins. In the back yard smutty pots and kettles, dingy feather beds and pillows, with various other household furnishings, are displayed as if for sale. The shop is smutty and dingy — all blacksmith shops are; but the home, if such it may be called, is smuttier and dingier and infinitely more dreary. On a gusty November night, when the wind moans in the trees like lost souls, and grewsome shadows from the forge fire flit around the entrance of the shop, the smith delights to tell ghost tales to the little boys who steal away from their mammas after tea. He is a tall, broad-shouldered half-breed, or "yaller nigger," with clean- cut features and keen black eyes; on the whole, somewhat like an Indian. To-night he has only one little boy to listen to his tales, and while he talks he sharpens the little boy's knife. He finishes the knife with the story and the two gaze at the fire. " Well, Uncle Zack," says the little boy, " if you'd go to sleep like other folks I don't believe the hanks would pester you. Mamma says the' aint no such things, anyhow." " Lord, chile, you ain't got no sense in yo' head. Sposin' you had the heart disease, what guv yer the pulsions every time yer laid down, then, howd'd yer keep from seein' de hants ? ' ' " Now, Uncle Zack, you know you haven't got the heart disease," says the lit- tle boy. UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 00032725659 FOR USE ONLY IN THE NORTH CAROLINA COLLECTION m '/■■ ■:■ :.»:«: ■■■v; ■■■ ■■ . . . lllti