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LETTER FROM NASHVILLE.

THE TEXAS DEAD AT THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN.

NASHVILLE, Tennessee, Nov. 26, 1867.

BEING in attendance as a delegate from Texas to the Southern General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church now in session in this city, I accepted an invitation a few days ago to visit the mansion of Colonel John McGavock at Franklin, twenty miles from Nashville, that I might partake of his princely hospitality and view the quiet resting-place of those Southern soldiers who fell in the disastrous battle of Franklin on the 30th of De

cember, 1864. Three Louisiana friends accompanied me. Here repose, in peaceful graves, the mortal remains of nearly fifteen hundred Confederate soldiers who fell on that eventful day. Around their silent dust an elegant iron fence is now near its completion, erected by the citizens of Galveston, Houston, and the surrounding villages, through the agency of Miss Gay, of Georgia, whose presence in Houston some months ago will be remembered by many, and whose faithful disbursement of the funds contributed, together with the names of every Texian contributor, is attested by documents now in the hands of Colonel McGavock. In full view of the mansion, and on a gently-sloping lawn, we entered the gate, and paced solemnly down the smooth walk that

separates the long rows of rounded hillocks where, in regular order, are interred the remains of Mississippians and Tennesseans, soldiers from Georgia, Alabama, and Texas-each in his warrior bed, on which is inscribed the name, company, and former residence of the occupant. With emotions which patriotic and Christian hearts alone can fully feel, and with silent tears on the cheeks of men not used to weep, we advanced from grave to grave. We thought of the bloody strife and of these sad results. Here lies the mangled body of many a father who came far from home to fight the battles of his country; of many a son, the pride of his mother; of many a brother, the idol of fond sisters, and many more, bound to distant ones by still tenderer and holier ties.

But the largest share of our attention and the deepest sympathy of our hearts were elicited, as we stopped and lingered long around that portion of the ground where lie the dead from Texas. There are fifty-nine in all, with the name of the Lone Star State inscribed on each tablet. Here they lie, far from home, and many a heart was left desolate by their fall. How grateful should those Texas parents feel, whose sons were spared through many a bloody conflict, and are now at their happy firesides, cheering their households by their presence, and cultivating the arts of peace. Why were these taken and others left? Why did my friend's son fall and mine escape? "Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight."

But we would not omit to say, that on many of the tablets of the Texas dead no name is lettered; but in its stead is simply the word "Unknown!"-unknown, alas, his name, his age, his calling-unknown the place where his kindred dwell-and unknown to kindred where lies the body of their lost Texan! As the sad

word "unknown" was repeated with a low and saddened voice which I thought none near me could hear, the imposing form of an old friend (not of the clerical profession) advanced to my side, and with quivering lips uttered these cheering words:

Unknown' is all the epitaph can tell

If Jesus knew thee-all is well."

I now looked around and inquired where lie the remains of General Granberry-that man of classic taste, and commanding form, and trumpet voice-Granberry, once my pupil, who sat in my recitation-room for four full years, in the quiet groves of Oakland College. "He is not yet here," replied our host; "but as soon as his Texas friends shall request his removal from a neighboring farm, he shall come here also, to repose among his friends who fell with him on the field of battle."

To those in Texas who have friends buried in this attractive spot, I would add that if they have inquiries to make, or requests to present respecting their dead, they may communicate without reserve with Colonel McGavock, the proprietor of the premises, who will cheerfully and promptly impart all needed information. And to some who may ask to be more fully informed respecting the agency of Miss Gay, who presented the claims of the cemetery to their consideration, I may add that no one more worthy of their confidence could have been selected to convey their offerings to the place designated.

THE

FIRST PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL SERMON

PREACHED IN NEW ORLEANS.

THE Rev. Benjamin Chase, D.D., of eighty years of age, the oldest Presbyterian clergyman of the Southwest, recently deceased at Natchez, in a letter dated November 28, 1869, writes as follows:

"The Rev. Jedediah Smith was a Congregational minister, with twelve children, ten of whom accompanied him from Granville, Massachusetts, to the Natchez country, in 1776. On his way, landing at what was called the Island of Orleans, under the dominion of Spain, he was there seized by the Romish priesthood, all his property was confiscated, and his library burned on the levee.

"After his release he obtained a keel-boat, and with the aid of his sons slowly and tediously ascended the Mississippi, in the month of July, as far as Loftus Heights, now Fort Adams. Exposed to the midsummer sun, and unaccustomed to the climate, he was taken sick, and the boat was left to the management of his sons, who conducted it to Natchez, where he died soon after his arrival, and was buried below the Bluff, not far from Fort Rosalie. In a few years the bank of the river broke away, and ever afterwards rendered the place of his interment unknown. Six of his sons, viz., William, Josephus, Philetus, Israel, Philander, and Calvin, with two daughters, Sarah and Philomela, settled on Second and St. Catharine Creeks, within eight or ten miles from Natchez, became wealthy, influential and highly respectable families, and many of their children and de

scendants became members of the Presbyterian church. Two of the sons, Luther and Courtland, settled on Bayou Sarah, then West Florida, where they resided for upwards of fifty years. Their families became the most wealthy and respectable in that community.

"In September, 1805, Bishop Benjamin Moore, of the Protestant Episcopal Church, New York, received a letter from James M. Bradford, James C. Williamson, and Edward Livingston, dated New Orleans, August 12, 1805, requesting him to send them a minister of the gospel, of the Protestant Episcopal denomination, adding, 'It is to be recollected, that his supporters are not only of his own persuasion, but also Presbyterians, Catholics, etc.' Bishop Moore recommended the Rev. Philander Chase, rector of the church of Poughkeepsie, N. Y., who consented to go, and arrived in New Orleans on the 13th of November. An act of incorporation had been obtained on the 16th of November, and a vestry organized, consisting of the following persons: J. B. Provost, D. A. Hall, Benjamin Morgan, Joseph Saul, William Kenney, Joseph McNiel, George T. Ross, Charles Norwood, Andrew Burk, R. D. Shepherd, Richard Relf, Ed. Livingston, J. McDonough, T. P. Sanderson, and A. R. Ellery.

"On Sunday, November 17, 1805, at 11 A.M., the Rev. Philander Chase preached the first Protestant sermon ever delivered in New Orleans or Louisiana; and on Wednesday a vote of thanks was voted by the vestry to Mr. Chase, for his readiness and zeal in tendering his services, proffering him a salary of $2,000 per annum, and a house, or nearly $3,000 yearly in lieu of it, which he accepted, as their rector, and remained until the autumn of 1811, when he returned to the North, and became rector of Christ Church, Hartford, Connecticut.

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