One day a little girl was reading a story-book on the green lawn in front of a Southern home; two gentlemen were seated near under a wide-spreading magnolia tree talking about the political situation, the number of Presidential candidates, and the possible results of the election. Suddenly one of them said, "Yes, there is trouble ahead. Before that child is grown this country will be plunged into bloody war." The child was startled. The prophetic words were indelibly stamped on her mind. She could not sleep until long after midnight, and when she slept she dreamed that she, like the "Maid of[42] Monterey," gave food and water to the thirsty soldiers, and dressed their bleeding wounds.

The dream came true. While she was attending school in the capital city, talk of secession began, and then came preparations for war. I remember the day the arsenal at Baton Rouge was seized by Louisiana, and all the citizens and the college girls marched down to the barracks on the river to see our soldiers drill. The women and girls went to work making clothes and little conveniences for the soldiers to take with them. In a few weeks we were thrilled with enthusiasm when our first companies marched through the city with their knapsacks, blankets, and a half loaf of bread strapped on their backs. Poor boys, they lived to learn that "a half loaf is better than none."

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Some time after two companies[2] were camped near us on the Comite River, and real work began. How young and brave the soldiers were, and how proud every woman was who had a son, brother, or sweetheart in the army! For a time all was excitement, gaiety, and preparation; bands played, soldiers drilled, and citizens flocked to the camps to encourage and help in every way possible. One sad day orders came to move to the front. Knapsacks were packed, tents were folded, the last good-byes were spoken, tears fell softly but were dashed away, and our boys were gone—gone to meet their fate, whatever it might be!

Soon after came the hard times. Luxuries were given up, privation was felt in every home, but no one [44]complained. People seemed proud to endure, and often met to exchange opinions and plans as to how to "make something out of nothing," as they expressed it. Old looms were brought out and repaired, and the spinning wheels were put to work. Flour, tea, coffee, and even salt ceased to be used on the family table. From the smoke-houses, where the salt meats had dripped for years, the salt-soaked earth was taken up, boiled in a vessel, the salt extracted, and dried in the sun. Sweet potatoes were sliced thin, cut in little pieces, browned in an oven, ground in a coffee mill, and a breakfast drink made from them. It looked like coffee, it was not injurious, so it was cheerfully taken in place of fragrant Mocha. Okra seed, parched corn meal, and parched peanuts were also used for[45] making a morning drink. "Confederate cake" was made by sifting corn meal through a sieve, and then through cloth. Rice was harvested, and husked in a wooden mortar, a work which required time and strength. All dress-goods became scarce—calico was $4 per yard and very hard to get. Jaunty dresses were made of coarse yellow domestic, piped with bright colors. No hats could be purchased, but stylish turbans were made of old straw covered with scraps of black silk or velvet, and were worn with pride, and called "Beauregard" hats. This recalls a song that was very popular in Louisiana during the war. It is a wee bit touching to read it over now, for the Southern girls, daintily reared, sadly missed their fine linen, their soft s............