man I had ever seen. He was fairly elected the first time, I acknowledge, but was he the last? A good many of the "free and equal" were not allowed a vote then.

The next day I persuaded one of the lads in the hotel to take a walk with me early in the morning, and I passed General Lee's house. A Yankee guard was pacing to and fro before it at which I felt an impulse of indignation, - but presently the door opened, the guard took his seat on the steps and proceeded to investigate the contents of a very neatly furnished tray, which Mrs. Lee in the kindness of her heart had sent out to him.

I am obliged to acknowledge that there is really no hope now of our ultimate success. Everybody says so. My heart is too full for words. General Johnson says we may comfort ourselves by the fact that war may decide a policy, but never a principle. I imagine our principle is all that remains to us of hope or comfort.

Devotedly,

AGNES

"My Captain lies, fallen cold and dead"

(From George William Curtis)

O-NIGHT in the misty spring moonlight, as I

TO-NI

think of the man we all loved and honored, laid quietly to rest upon the prairie, I feel that I can not honor too much, or praise too highly, the people that he so truly represented, and which, like him, has been faithful to the

end. So spotless he was, so patient, so tender,—it is a selfish, sad delight to me now, as when I looked upon his coffin, that his patience had made me patient, and that I never doubted his heart, or head, or hand. At the only interview I ever had with him, he shook my hand paternally at parting, and said, "Don't be troubled. I guess

Faithful to the End

we shall get through." We have got through, at least the fighting, and still I cannot believe it. Here upon the mantel are the portraits of the three boys who went out of this room, my brother, Theodore Winthrop, and Robbie Shaw. They are all dead the brave darlings—and now I put the head of the dear Chief among them, I feel that every drop of my blood and thought of my mind and affection of my heart is consecrated to securing the work made holy and forever imperative by so untold a sacrifice. May God keep us all as true as they were !

In peace General Lee loses the burden of old sorrows

(To his son)

LEXINGTON, VIRGINIA, December 21, 1867

MY DEAR FITZHUGH:...
Μ

My visit to Petersburg was extremely pleasant. Besides the pleasure of seeing my daughter and being with you, which was very great, I was gratified in seeing many friends. In addition, when our armies were in front of Petersburg I suffered so much in body and mind on account of the good townspeople, especially on that gloomy night when I was forced to abandon them, that I have always reverted to them in sadness and sorrow. My old feelings returned to me, as I passed well-remembered spots and recalled the ravages of the hostile shells. But when I saw the cheerfulness with which the people were working to restore their condition, and witnessed the comforts with which they were surrounded, a load of sorrow which had been pressing upon me for years was lifted from my heart. This is bad weather for completing your house, but it will soon pass away, and your sweet helpmate will make everything go smoothly. When the spring opens and the mocking

birds resume their song you will have much to do. So you must prepare in time. . . . God bless you all is the prayer of Your devoted father, R. E. LEE

"How swift the sudden flash of woe"

(From Mrs. James G. Blaine)

YOUR

WASHINGTON, [July 3,] 1881

OUR father got up quite early yesterday morning, in order to drive the President to the station, and at 9.30 Tom, the boys, Alice, and I had breakfast. In the midst of it, the door-bell rang and Tom was called out. Then he called Walker; but as the house is besieged all the time, we, who were so fortunate as to remain unsent for, paid no attention to the prolonged absence of the absentees; but shall I ever forget the moment when Maggie, nurse, came running into the room crying, "They have telephoned over to you, Mrs. Blaine, that the President is assassinated." Emmons flew, for we all remembered, with one accord, that his father was with him. By the time I had reached the door, I saw that it must be true everybody on the street, and wild. Mrs. Sherman got a carriage and drove over to the White House. Found the streets in front jammed and the doors closed, but they let us through and in. The President still at the station, so drove thitherward. Met the mounted police clearing the avenue, then the ambulance, turned and followed into that very gateway where, on the 4th of March, we had watched him enter. I stood with Mrs. MacVeagh in the hall, when a dozen men bore him above their heads, stretched on a mattress, and as he saw us and held us with his eye, he kissed his hand to us — I thought I should die; and when they brought him into his chamber and had laid him on his bed, he turned his eyes

Topsy-Turvy Paris

..

to me, beckoned, and when I went to him, pulled me down, kissed me again and again, and said, “Whatever happens, I want you to promise to look out for Crete,” — the name he always gives his wife. "Don't leave me until Crete comes." I took my old bonnet off and just stayed. I never left him a moment. Whatever happened in the room, I never blenched, and the day will never pass from my memory. At six, or thereabouts, Mrs. Garfield came, frail, fatigued, desperate, but firm and quiet and full of purpose to save, and I think now there is a possibility of succeeding.

Charles Godfrey Leland on the jolly days of the Revolution of '48

(To Frank Fisher)

EAR FRANK,

DEAR

if you will, but of all negligence with regard to attending to your affairs I am innocent. Oui, très cher, amy et cousin. Everything in Paris has gone à tort et à travers from the affairs of Louis Filente or Louis Filon and the Government Provisoire down to mine and thine. The fall of the oak kills the squirrels, and the Revolution of 1848 has played "enfer" with our personal arrangements. I have already written a longish letter to you — it “went lost " and now I hit him again. I've been in all sorts of adventures, and all sorts of luck since I saw you. I turned out in the Grande Révolution, armed like a smuggler with dirk and pistols, saw some fusillades, helped build several barricades, was capitaine at one nice little one in our Quartier, and distributed percussion caps and consolation to the heroic canaille, not to mention being at the plunder of the Tuileries - - not that I plundered anything. It was

great fun while it lasted- was that said same Revolution. Whack, hurrah, guns and drums, fusillades and barricades! We dined under a Monarchy, supped under a Regency, went to sleep under a Provisional Government, and woke under a Republic- not to mention about two hours when we had just no Government at all. Well, ami cousin, I'm coming home soon. The Boulevards look forlorn without trees - Déjazet is playing in "Mlle. de Choisy" at the Variétés a very pretty little comedy. We had a Review with nearly 350,000 soldiers the other day, and all Paris is overrun with penny papers, newsboys, and newswomen, who make such a row night and day that the city has become insufferable. Field is in England. As for me, I made a speech in German the other night to the audience at Bobino's little Theatre, at the top of my voice. It went down like Greek at Tammany Hall — nobody understood a word, the audience were completely mystified, but still very much delighted. Whenever a man who looks a little more respectable than common goes to Bobino's, he is sure to be called out to by some student, - more oratorical than the rest,—and must either display his talent at repartee and slanging, or else sit still and be slanged. Well I was the selected one the other night, and as I did not understand half the argot - though by this time I speak French decently enough — I gave it back to them in a regular stump speech in German not caring to speak English and be called a "Goddem " and a "biftek." All of these things have come on since the Revolution the entire populace has become acquainted, nobody is gêné: every night at all the theatres the entire audience sing the songs of the revolution and amuse themselves in a free and easy way which would do honour to the Bowery - so that even I—quiet and sober citizen- - have been inspired with their enthusiasm. I really begin to think

now