Adair & Smith (1861-1864) Southern Confederacy. [Vol. 2, no. 272 (January 2, 1863)]

[Draft Created by Crowdsourcing]
New Year's Address
of
"John Wesley,"
Carrier of the "Southern Confederacy."
Atlanta, January 1, 1863

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Kind Patrons and friends, once more I appear With my annual address, and "a happy New Year!" I can't tell the joy it affords me to greet The very kind friends I'm accustomed to meet. Last year, with his joys and sadness is dead; He is laid in the past, and his hoary old head Is bound with the snow-wreaths the winter spreads out On the tomb of the year. The reveller's shout And blithe Christmas bells have chaunted a hymn And echoed a requiem of joy o'er him - A requiem of joy, through mingled with sadness, A requiem of sorrow, but tempered with gladness - For - a curse on the blockade and war's cruel stroke - Santa Claus is a bankrupt and Christmas is broke; Shedding grief o'er your homes, while your girls and your boys
Are pining for sweetmeats and mourning for toys. That's the grief; now the joys - that I need not to tell: If you've all read my paper you know it as well As I, how the year dawned on us with dread - How hope for the future scarce lifted her head - How the thunders of cannon and war's cruel brand Shook the earth to its centre, and lighted our land With a semblance of Hell -- how we trembled with fear As the wide swelling torrent rolled near and more near - How the war-cloud, which thickened but slowly at first, Gathered over our heads and threatened to burst - How the echo resounded through the land like a knell When Fort Henry surrendered and Donelson fell, And Nashville was taken, and Memphis - and then Hope tottered, fear trembled, doubt murmured again. How it galled our proud hearts that an insolent foe Should boast of their triumph to see us laid low. Like a heart-stricken deer, we were standing at bay; Their fangs were all whetted to rush on their prey. We asked men for aid, and they failed us, and then, With a look up to God, we nerved us again, Flung our flag to the breeze and our hearts to the blade, And rushed where the foemen were thickest arrayed. They met us exulting and gloating on spoils, In fancy they saw us hung fast in their coils, But when the most boasting --ah, wo worth the day! - The wild vandal hunters turned up as the prey. They sprang up as the grass at the drear winter's close, Like leaves of the autumn they fell 'neath our blows, For each man that opposed them had the might of a god, And blood fell as rain, 'til it crimsoned the sod. At Leesburg, at Shiloh, at Shepherdstown, too,

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We showed them what men in a right cause could do; We gloried, fear vanished, one prayer up to God, And our "Bars" were triumphant, our foes 'neath the sod. "To Richmond! to Richmond!" ah! hear the wild shout! For "Booty and Beauty" again they set out. Once more did the torrent impetuously roll, The race was begun, and Richmond the goal; But how the grand failure each patriot heart thrills! They baulked at our "Stonewall" and failed at our "Hills." Proud minions of faction! how they joyed in the chase, And accomplished at the last a sublime "change of base," As our low "ragamuffins" poured out as a flood, And the smooth Rappahannock was dyed with their blood, And James', too, was crimsoned, and our banner was red, But floated in triumph o'er heaps of their dead.
But why talk of all this, you have heard it before,
For each daily event I have dropped at your door. Reverses and triumphs I've brought you; whate'er Might fill you with sorrow or gladness to hear I have faithfully brought, as 'twas faithfully wrote In the journal it has been my duty to "tote." Though my telegrams sometimes were tell-lie-grams too, I think you'll bear witness most of them were true. And though housewives have sometimes found condiments short,
I think they had spice in our "Market Report."
But now for the saddest of all duties I've done
Since, two years ago, I as Carrier begun My visits to you. How my bosom will swell As it murmurs with grief that sad word, Farewell! Like the year that has ended, my duty is done, I'll have made my last visit ere this day's setting sun; For, like all the Generals the Yankees have had, I have been superseded, --- not because I've done bad As they did, but because I could not do all; So the contract was let, and JOHN WESLEY must fall From his office, and others your carriers will be, And he hopes they'll prove quite as faithful as he. May they come to you daily as WESLEY has done, And bring you the news through storm and through sun.
But ere I part of you - like Stonewall's fierce stroke
Left the ranks of the Yankees - pray don't leave me "broke," But open those hearts and those purses of thine, And fill up these empty old pockets of mine. Your Halves and your Dollars will answer quite well To sweeten the grief of that sad word, Farewell! Take my very best wishes for future success, And - your shadows and GIFTS - may they never grow less.