We found it almost impossible to take up our lives again. All the cords binding us to the past were severed, beyond the hope of reunion. We sat silently looking out on a landscape marked here and there by chimneys standing sentinel over blackened heaps, where our neighbors had made happy homes. Only one remained, Mr. Green's, beyond a little ravine across the road.

We had, fortunately, no inclination to read. A few books had been saved, only those for which we had little use. A soldier walked in one day with a handsome volume which Jefferson Davis, after inscribing his name in it, had presented to the general. The soldier calmly requested the former owner to be kind enough to add to the value of the volume by writing beneath the inscription his own autograph, and his request granted, walked off with it under his arm. "He has been at some trouble," said my husband, "and he had as well be happy if I cannot!"

As the various brigades moved away from our neighborhood, a few plain articles of furniture that had been taken from the house were restored to us, but nothing handsome or valuable, no books nor pictures,—just a few chairs and tables. I had furnished an itemized list of all the articles we had lost, with only this result. 274 We had news after a while of our blooded mare, Lady Jane. A letter enclosing her photograph came from a New England officer:—

"To Mr. Pryor,

"Dear Sir: A very fine mare belonging to you came into my camp near Richmond and is now with me. It would add much to her value if I could get her pedigree. Kindly send it at your earliest convenience, and oblige,

"Yours truly,
"— —.

"P.S. The mare is in good health, as you will doubtless be glad to know."

Disposed as my general was to be amiable, this was a little too much! The pedigree was not sent, but later the amiable owner of Lady Jane sent her photograph. Also his own—on her back.

A great number of tourists soon began to pass our house on their way to visit the localities near us, now become historic. They frequently called upon us, claiming some common acquaintance. We could not but resent this. Their sympathetic attitude offended us, sore and proud as we were.

We were perfectly aware that they wished to see us, and not to gain, as they affected, information about the historic localities on the farm. Still less did they desire ignobly to triumph over us. A boy, when he tears off the wings of a fly, is much interested in observing its actions, not that he is cruel—far from it! He is only curious to see how the creature will behave under very disadvantageous circumstances. 275 One day a clergyman called, with a card of introduction from Mrs. Hartsuff, who had, I imagine, small discernment as regards clergymen. This one was a smug little man, sleek, unctuous, and trim, with Pecksniffian self-esteem oozing out of every pore of his face.

"Well, madam," he commenced, "I trust I find you lying meekly under the chastening rod of the Lord. I trust you can say 'it is good I was afflicted.'"

Having no suitable answer just ready, I received his pious exhortation in silence. One can always safely do this with a clergyman.

"There are seasons," continued the good man, "when chastisement must be meted out to the transgressor; but if borne in the right spirit, the rod may blossom with blessings in the end."

A little more of the same nature wrung from me the query, "Are there none on the other side who need the rod?"

"Oh—well, now—my dear lady! You must consider! You were in the wrong in this unhappy contest, or, I should say, this most righteous war."

"V? victis!" I exclaimed. "Our homes were invaded. We are on our own soil!"

My reverend brother grew red in the face. Rising and bowing himself out, he sent me a Parthian arrow:—

"No thief e'er felt the halter draw

With good opinion of the law."

276

Fortunately my general was absent at the moment. Like the Douglas, he had endured much, but—

"Last and worst, to spirit proud

To bear the pity of the crowd"—

this was more than he could endure.

The suggestive odors within doors could never be stifled or cleansed away. Not before October could I get my consent to eat a morsel in the house. I took my meals under the trees, unless driven by the rains to the shelter of the porch. I suffered terribly for want of occupation. I had no household to manage, no garments to mend or make. My little Lucy could not bear the sun, and she sat quietly beside me all day. I could have made a sun-bonnet for her, but I had no fabric, no thimble, needles, thread, or scissors. Finally I discovered in the pocket of one of my Washington coats my silver car............