Carmel Richardson was moved by the snowstorm stopping traffic on Interstate 95 in Virginia trapping motorists in the cars, in some cases for over 24 hours, while the soon-to-be-outgoing Northam Administration did nothing to help to comment wittily in the manner of the late Robert Frost:
Whose road this is I think I know.
His house is in the city though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch the road fill up with snow.
My little car must think it queer
To stop without an exit near
Between Glenn Ruther and Dumfries
The whitest evening of the year.
I give my weary head a shake
And ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the beep
Of countless cars stuck next to me.
They say the sun has melting powers
But I have waited hours and hours,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
“Meantime he has a nobler monument than can be built of marble or of brass. His monument is the adoration of the South; his shrine is in every Southern heart.”
–Thomas Nelson Page
“He was a foe without hate; a friend without treachery; a soldier without cruelty; a victor without oppression, and a victim without murmuring. He was a public officer without vices; a private citizen without wrong; a neighbour without reproach; a Christian without hypocrisy, and a man without guile. He was a Caesar, without his ambition; Frederick, without his tyranny; Napoleon, without his selfishness, and Washington, without his reward.”
–Benjamin Harvey Hill (former Confederate Senator from Georgia), 1874.
A speech given by President Jefferson Davis at the formation of the Lee Monument Association in Richmond, following the death of General Robert E. Lee.
[Richmond, Virginia – November 3, 1870]
“Soldiers and sailors of the Confederacy, comrades and friends”:
Assembled on this sad occasion, with hearts oppressed with the grief that follows the loss of him who was our leader on many a bloody battle-field, a pleasing though melacholy spectacle is presented. Hitererto, and in all times, men have been honored when successful, but here is the case of one who, amid disaster, went down to his grave, and those who were his companions in misfortune have assembled to honor his memory. It is as much an honor to you who give as to him who receives, for above the vulgar test of merit you show yourselves competent to discriminate between him who enjoys and he who deserves success.
Robert E. Lee was my associate and friend in the military academy, and we were friends until the hour of his death. We were associates and friends when he was a soldier and I a congressman; and associates and friends when he led the armies of the Confederacy and I presided in its Cabinet. We passed through many sad scenes together, but I cannot remember that there was ever aught but perfect harmony between us. If ever there was difference of opinion it was dissipated by discussion, and harmony was the result. I repeat, we never disagreed, and I may add that I never in my life saw in him the slightest tendency to self-seeking. It was not his to make a record, it was not his to shift blame to other shoulders; but it was his with an eye fixed upon the welfare of his country, never faltering to follow the line of duty to the end. His was the heart that braved every difficulty; his was the mind that wrought victory out of defeat.
He has been charged with “want of dash.” I wish to say that I never knew Lee to falter to attempt anything ever man could dare. An attempt has also been made to throw a cloud upon his character because he left the army of the United States to join in the struggle for the liberty of his State. Without trenching at all upon politics, I deem it my duty to say one word in reference to this charge. Virginian born, descended from a family illustrious in Virginia’s annals, given by Virginia to the service of the United States, he represented her in the Military Academy at West Point. He was not educated by the Federal Government, but by Virginia; for she paid her full share for the support of that institution, and was entitled to demand in return the services of her sons. Entering the army of the United States, he represented Virginia there also, and nobly. On many a hard-fought field Lee was conspicuous, battling for his native State as much as for the Union. He came from Mexico crowned with honors, covered by brevets, and recognized, young as he was, as one of the ablest of his country’s soldiers. And to prove that he was estimated then as such, let me tell you that when Lee was a captain of engineers stationed in Baltimore the Cuban Junta in New York selected him to be their leader in the struggle for the independence of their native country. They were anxious to secure his services, and offered him every temptation that ambition could desire. He thought the matter over, and, I remember, came to Washington to consult me as to what he should do, and when I began to discuss the complications which might arise from his acceptance of the trust he gently rebuked me, saying that this was not the line upon which he wished my advice, the simple question was “Whether it was right or not.” He had been educated by the United States, and felt wrong to accept place in the army of a foreign power. Such was his extreme delicacy, such was the nice sense of honor of the gallant gentleman whose death we deplore. But when Virginia withdrew – the State to whom he owed his first and last allegiance – the same nice sense of honor led him to draw his sword and throw it in the scale for good or for evil. Pardon me for this brief defence of my illustrious friend.
When Virginia joined the Confederacy, Robert Lee, the highest officer in the little army of Virginia, came to Richmond, and not pausing to inquire what woud be his rank in the service of the Confederacy, went to Western Virginia under the belief that he was still an officer of the State. He came back, carrying the heavy weight of defeat and unappreciated by the people whom he served, for they could not know, as I knew, that if his plans and orders had been carried out the result would have been victory rather than retreat. You did not know, for I would not have known it had he not breathed it in my ear only at my earnest request, and begging that nothing be said about it. The clamor which then arose followed him when he went to South Carolina, so that it became necessary on his going to South Carolina to write a letter to the Governor of that State, telling him what manner of man he was. Yet, through all this, with a magnanimity rarely equalled, he stood in silence, without defending himself or allowing others to defend him, for he was unwilling to offend any one who was wearing a sword and striking blows for the Confederacy.
Mr. Davis then spoke of the straits to which the Confederacy was reduced, and of the danger to which her capital was exposed just after the battle of Seven Pines, and told how General Lee had conceived and executed the desperate plan to turn their flank and rear, which, after seven days of bloody battle, was crowned with the protection of Richmond, while the enemy was driven far from the city. The speaker referred also to the circumstances attending General Lee’s crossing the Potomac and the march into Pennsylvania. He (Mr. Davis) assumed the responsibility for that movement. The enemy had long been concentrating his force, and it was evident that if they continued their steady progress the Confederacy would be overwhelmed. Our only hope was to drive him to the defence of his own capital, we being enabled in the meantime to reinforce our shattered army. How well Gen. Lee carried out that dangerous experiment need not be told. Richmond was relieved, the Confederacy was relieved, and time was obtained, if other things had favored, to reinforce the army.
But, said Mr. Davis, I shall not attempt to review the military career of our fallen Chieftain. Of the man, how shall I speak? He was my friend, and in that word is included all that I could say of any man. His moral qualities rose to the height of his genius. Self denying – always intent upon the one idea of duty – self-controlled to an extent that many thought him cold. His feelings were really warm, and his heart melted freely at the sight of a wounded soldier or the story of the sufferings of the widow and orphan. During the war he was ever conscious of the inequality of the means at his control; but it was never his to complain or to utter a doubt – It was always his to do. When in the last campaign he was beleaguered at Petersburg, and painfully aware of the straights to which we were reduced, he said: “With my army in the mountains of Virginia I could carry on this war for twenty years longer.” His men exhausted and his supplies failing, he was unable to carry out his plans. An untoward event caused him to anticipate the movement and the Army of Northern Virginia was overwhelmed. But in the surrender he anticipated conditions that have not been fulfilled – he expected his army to be respected and his paroled soldiers to be allowed the enjoyments of life and property. Whether these conditions have been fulfilled, let others say.
Here he now sleeps in the land he loved so well, and that land is not Virginia only, for they do injustice to Lee who believe he fought only for Virginia. He was ready to go anywhere, on any service for the good of his country, and his heart was as broad as the fifteen States struggling for the principles that our forefathers fought for in the Revolution of 1776. He is sleeping in the same soil with the thousands who fought under the same flag, but first offered up their lives. Here the living are assembled to honor his memory, and there the skeleton sentinels keep watch over his grave. This citizen! this soldier! this great general! this true patriot! left behind him the crowning glory of a true Christian. His Christianity ennobled him in life, and affords us grounds for the belief that he is happy beyond the grave.
But, while we mourn the loss of the great and the true, drop we also tears of sympathy with her who was his help-meet in life – the noble woman who, while her husband was in the field leading the Army of the Confederacy, though an invalid herself, passed the time in knitting socks for the marching soldiers! A woman fit to be the mother of heroes – and heroes are descended from her. Mourning with her, we can only offer the consolation of a Christian. Our loss is not his, but he now enjoys the rewards of a life well spent and a never wavering trust in a risen Saviour. This day we unite our words of sorrow with those of the good and great throughout Christendom, for his fame is gone over the water – his deeds will be remembered; and when the monument we build shall have crumbled into dust, his virtues will still live, a high model for the imitation of generations yet unborn.
–From The Papers of Jefferson Davis, Volume 12, pp 502-506. Transcribed from the Richmond Dispatch, November 4, 1870.
A Texan, A Floridian, and a Virginian all die and go to hell. While there, they spy a red phone and ask what the phone is for. The devil tells them it is for calling back to Earth.
The Texan asks to call Dallas and talks for 5 minutes. When he is finished, the devil informs him that the cost is a million dollars, so the Texan writes him a check.
Next the Floridian calls Miami and talks for 30 minutes. When he is finished, the devil informs him that the cost is 6 million dollars, so he writes him a check.
Finally the Virginian gets his turn. He calls Richmond and talks for 4 hours. When he is finished, the devil informs him that the cost is $5.00. When the Texan hears this, he goes ballistic and asks the devil why the Virginian got to call Richmond so cheaply.
The devil smiles and replies, “Since Ralph Northam took over, the state has gone to hell, so it’s a local callâ€.
Portsmouth, Virginia police stood by and watched, making no attempt to interfere as a mixed race mob first defaced the Confederate Monument, erected 1876-1881 and on the National Register of Historic Places, then proceeded to decapitate and then topple the four statues of soldiers and a sailor standing guard around its base.
The monument honored 1,242 men from Portsmouth of whom 199 were killed or died; gave 1,018 from Norfolk county of whom 280 were killed or died; and 1,119 from the city of Norfolk of whom 176 were killed or died in defense of their native state.
Jim Hoft reports a denouement worthy of an M.R. James story.
A far left protester was critically injured on Wednesday when a leftist mob toppled a Confederate statue on top of him.
The young Democrats attempted to destroy a Confederate Monument in Portsmouth, Virginia.
When they knocked over one of the statues it landed on a fellow protester critically injuring the man.
A witness said the protesterâ€™s skull was showing and he as convulsing on the ground.
Nat Morison, heir to Welbourne and uncrowned king of Northern Virginia Horse Country, passed away October 10th, aetatis 83.
He was a proud graduate of the University of Virginia who looked suspiciously at people tainted by association with such Yankee schools as Yale and Harvard.
His tastes were naturally antiquarian. After all, he ate his breakfast daily at the same table where George Washington (a regular guest at Welbourne) made notes for the Constitutional Convention of 1787. One window of his house’s second floor features a never-completed inscription by the “Gallant Pelham,” who was interrupted while writing with his diamond ring on the glass in 1862 with a call to arms.
Nat Morison commonly followed the practice notoriously associated with British peers of dressing with decided flair in century old suits and ties, and shirts, and even shoes, inherited from generations of gentleman ancestors.
His colorful eccentricity and his passionate aversion to change inspired the affectionate tribute of a 2004 film comedy, Crazy like a Fox, in which an impecunious 8th generation Virginia aristocrat loses his stately Virginia manse to a couple of crass Yankee speculators (named Sherman, no less) and then proceeds to wage a guerilla war of resistance.
Virginia and the world are duller places without Nat Morison.
Molliter ossa cubent!
Richard Roberts, Middleburg huntsman, formerly huntsman for the Piedmont Fox Hounds, blows “Gone Away” for Nat.
The Commonwealth of Virginia, where statues of Confederate heroes like Lee and Jackson have recently been removed, is about to erect a monument in downtown Richmond to Nat Turner, the leader of an 1830 slave rebellion.
So now Nat Turner has a monument in Richmond…..a monument to a mass murderer whose band of marauders killed 61 white people, 47 of them women and children. Victims included a 3 year old child who was beheaded by a slave who had previously taken him on horseback rides and who the child trusted. Also included was the murder of the infant son of Nat Turner’s master, whose head was bashed against the fireplace wall. Women, children and old men were forced to watch as they waited their turn while others were beaten or hacked to death. Yeah….great hero, eh? So, yipppeee Richmond! Let’s commemorate”!? Let’s go celebrate a mass murderer while tearing down all those nasty Confederate statues along the way!! Today’s politicians and social justice warriors have nothing on the taliban, which, by the way, does the same kind of thing. Modern day accounts of Turner’s revolt like the one in this article will say that Nat Turner was a brave hero who fought for freedom and was eventually taken down by the superior numbers of a white militia. The truth is more embarrassing for those who would “commemorate” this monster – his revolt was actually stopped by a farmer named Blount, whose farm Turner attacked. Blount, his son, and Blount’s SLAVES actually fought off Turner’s attack. Yeah, Turner’s own people helped snuff out his “revolt.”
The Democratic Virginia delegate who has recently come under fire for sponsoring a bill in the Virginia House of Delegates that would allow the termination of a pregnancy up to 40 weeks old, is also the chief patron of a bill that would protect the lives of â€œfall cankerwormsâ€ during certain months.
In Virginia’s 5th Congressional District, Bigfoot erotica aficionado Denver Riggleman defeated Olivia Wilde’s mom, Leslie Cockburn (Yale ’74, married to Andrew Cockburn, son of the late British communist journalist Claude Cockburn).
If I were still in Virginia, I believe my last residence in Fauquier County would have been in his district.
In Minnesota’s 5th Congressional District, Ilhan Omar, a Muslim Somali democrat won a landslide 78.2% win, despite apparently being handicapped by having fraudulently and bigamously married her own brother in 2009 in order make it possible for him to immigrate to the United States. (Scott Johnson, 2016)
Sarah Huckabee Sanders at the 2018 White House Correspondents’ Dinner at Washington Hilton on April 28, 2018 in Washington, DC.
Virginia is a special place, home of Washington, Jefferson, Madison, birthplace of the nation really. And Lexington is a special little town, home of VMI. Stonewall Jackson lived there and taught both mathematics at VMI and the Bible at a black Sunday School he founded himself and where he promoted black literacy in defiance of state law. Robert E. Lee also lived there, serving as president of Washington College, now Washington and Lee.
Al Perrotta is justifiably indignant that a transplanted Yankee (the kind of specimen that old Ben Hardaway, long-time Master of the Midland Hunt, used to complain about: Northern migrants who “perch in our trees and shit on our ground”) made Lexington the focus of a national news story by refusing service to the President’s press secretary. This kind of behavior is un-Southern, and especially un-Virginian.
Imagine. Youâ€™ve had a rough week at the office. Youâ€™ve had a pressure-packed month that had you traveling halfway across the world for meetings that could decide the fate of millions. Your return has brought no rest. Every day you still have to stand in front of a bunch of people screaming the same questions at you â€” loaded questions, rude questions, â€œLetâ€™s see if I can get trending on Twitterâ€ questions. Questions where one wrong word from you can send markets crashing, foreign leaders vexing, to say nothing of sending talking heads into a frenzy. And you have to take this daily barrage with supernatural control and restraint, despite being genetically wired to be a wise-cracker.
Finally, itâ€™s Friday. TGIF! Escape! You head out I-66 with the job and the nationâ€™s Capitol in your rear view mirror. You head south down I-81. Way south. With each mile you lose the stench of the Swamp, the weight of your responsibility, the burden of a boss who works 17 hours a day and rarely on script. Up ahead is a nice dinner with some friends, a coupleâ€™s night.
You arrive in a quaint town tucked in the Shenandoah Mountains. A haven. You sit down at your table. You breathe. Perhaps for the first time in a month, you breathe.
The owner comes over. Not to say hi. Not even to discuss the nightâ€™s specials. Sheâ€™s there to throw you out. Throw your whole party out. (literally and figuratively). Why? Because she hates your boss, and by extension hates you.
What happened to Sarah Sanders Friday night at the Red Hen in Lexington, Virginia is an abomination. It is a violation of all standards of decency and hospitality. Worse, it is the latest vile display of the unrepentant and unhinged spirit that says â€œThose I disagree with politically I must destroy.â€ (Actually, not the latest. Floridaâ€™s Attorney General got verbally assaulted inside a screening of the new Mr. Rogers documentary Saturday. Itâ€™s an ugly day in the neighborhood.)
Classic Virginia. Delegate Matt C. Farris (R-Campbell) debates HB 1900, an anti-hunting bill which would impose a $100 fine per dog in cases in which hunting dogs stray onto a property where they are unwelcome. A Virginia fox hunt might go out with several dozen hounds, so you can imagine what a case of accidental trespass by a pack might cost.
Keswick hunts a gorgeous territory divided between woods and farmland in the foothills of the Blue Ridge at the southern end of Northern Virgina’s Hunt Country. Its territory includes Civil War battlefields, the birthplace of Zachary Taylor, James Madison’s Montpelier, and the point from which the Knights of the Golden Horseshoe set out to explore the wilderness in 1716. Karen and I were out with them once on a joint meet just a few years ago.