her reckoning, and insisted on the additional clothing. A last I got it, very fortunately; for my room-mate, who did not make the same demand, nearly froze in the other bed before daylight.

In the morning a black man came in and made a fire. Then, before I was up, a black girl came in to bring a towel, and to break the ice in the wash-basin. That the water might not freeze again before I could use it, (for the fire, as some one has said, “could n't get a purchase on the cold,") I requested her to place the basin on the hearth; also to shut the door; for every person who passed in or out left all doors wide, afford ing a free passage from my bed to the street.

"You 're cold-natered, an't ye?" said the girl, to whose experience my modest requests appeared unprecedented.

Afterwards I went out to breakfast in a room that showed no chimney, and no place for a stove. The outer door was open much of the time, and when it was shut the wind came in through a great round hole cut for the accommodation of cats and dogs. This, be it understood, was a fashionable Southern residence; and this had always been the diningroom, in winter the same as in summer, though no fire had ever been built in it. The evening before, the lady had said to me, "The Yankees are the cause that we have no better accommodations to offer you," and I had cheerfully forgiven her. But the Yankees were not the cause of our breakfasting in such a bleak apartment.

Everybody at table was pinched and blue. The lady, white and delicate, sat wrapped in shawls. She was very bitter against the Yankees, until I smilingly informed her that her remarks were particularly interesting to me, as I was a Yankee myself.

"From what State are you, Sir?" "From Massachusetts."

“Oh!” — with a shudder,

"they 're bad Yankees!"

"Bad enough, Heaven knows," I pleasantly replied; though, in truth, Madam, I have seen almost as bad people in other parts of the world."

WASTEFUL HABITS OF SLAVERY.

295

The lady's husband changed the conversation by offering me a piece of venison which he had killed the day before. Deer were plenty in that region. As in Tennessee and Alabama, game of all kinds - deer, foxes, wild turkeys, wolves, — had increased greatly in Mississippi during the war; the inhabitants having had something more formidable to hunt, or been hunted themselves.

Mr. M-owned two abandoned plantations: this was his town residence. He left it just before the battle of Shiloh, and it was occupied either by the Rebels or Yankees till the end of the war. He was originally opposed to the secessionleaders, but he afterwards went into the war, and lost everything, while they kept out of it and made money.

The bullet-holes in the house were made by the Rebels firing at the Federals when they attacked the town.

The family consisted of three persons, - Mr. M—, his wife, and their little boy. Notwithstanding their poverty, they kept four black servants to wait upon them. They were paying a man fifteen dollars a month, a cook-woman the same, another woman six, and a girl six: total, forty-two dollars. It was mainly to obtain money to pay and feed these people that they had been compelled to take in lodgers. The possibility of getting along with fewer servants seemed never to have occurred to them. Before the war they used to keep seven or eight. It was the old wasteful habit of slavery: masters were accustomed to have many servants about them, and each servant must have two or three to help him.

The freedmen, I was told, were behaving very well. But the citizens were bitterly hostile to the negro garrison which then occupied Corinth. A respectable white man had recently been killed by a colored soldier, and the excitement occasioned by the circumstance was intense. It was called "a cold-blooded murder." Visiting head-quarters, I took pains to ascertain the facts in the case. They are in brief as follows:

The said respectable citizen was drunk. Going down the street, he staggered against a colored orderly. Cursing him, he said, "Why don't you get out of the way when you see a

white man coming?" The orderly replied, "There's room for you to pass. The respectable citizen then drew his revolver, threatening to "shoot his damned black heart out." This occasioned an order for his arrest. He drew his revolver, with a similar threat, upon another soldier sent to take him, and was promptly shot down by him. Exit respectable citizen. Corinth is a bruised and battered village surrounded by stumpy fields, forts, earthworks, and graves. The stumpy fields are the sites of woods and groves cut away by the great armies. The graves are those of soldiers slain upon these hills. Beautiful woody boundaries sweep round all.

There is nothing about the town especially worth visiting; and my object in stopping there was to make an excursion into the country and visit the battle-field of Shiloh. I went to a livery-stable to engage a horse. I was told of frequent robberies that had been committed on that road, and urged by the stable-keeper to take a man with me; but I wished to make the acquaintance of the country people, and thought I could do better without a companion.

SCENE IN THE WOODS.

297

CHAPTER XLI.

ON HORSEBACK FROM CORINTH.

MOUNTING a sober little iron-gray, I cantered out of Corinth, in a northeasterly direction, past the angles of an old fort overgrown with weeds, and entered the solitary wooded country beyond.

A short ride brought me to a broken bridge, hanging its shaky rim over a stream breast-high to my horse. I paused on its brink, dubious; until I saw two ladies, coming to town on horseback to do their shopping (the fashion of the country), rein boldly down the muddy bank, gather their skirts together, hold up their heels, and take like ducks to the water. I held up my heels and did likewise. This was the route of the great armies; which whoso follows will find many a ruined bridge and muddy stream to ford.

It was a clear, crisp winter's morning. The air was elastic and sparkling. The road wound among lofty trunks of oak, poplar, hickory, and gum, striped and gilded with the slanting early sunshine. Quails (called partridges in the South) flew up from the wayside; turtle-doves flitted from the limbs above my head; the woodpeckers screamed and tapped, greeting my approach with merry fife and drum. Cattle were grazing on the wild grass of the woods, and a solitary cow-bell rang.

Two and a half miles from town I came to a steam saw-mill, all about which the forest resounded with the noise of axes, the voices of negroes shouting to their teams, the flapping of boards thrown down, and the vehement buzz of the saw. This mill had but recently gone into operation; being one of hundreds that had already been brought from the North, and set to work supplying the demand for lumber, and repairing the damages of war.

Near by was a new house of rough logs with the usual great opening through it. It was situated in the midst of ruins which told too plain a story. Tying my horse to a bush, I entered, and found one division of the house occupied by negro servants, the other by two lonely white women. One of these was young; the other aged, and bent with grief and years. She sat by the fire, knitting, wrapped in an ancient shawl, and having a white handkerchief tied over her head. The walls and roof were full of chinks, the wind blew through the room, and she crouched shivering over the hearth.

She offered me a chair, and a negro woman, from the other part of the house, brought in wood, which she heaped in the great open fireplace.

"Sit up, stranger," said the old lady. "I have n't the accommodations for guests I had once; but you 're welcome to what I have. I owned a beautiful place here before the war, a fine house, negro quarters, an orchard, and garden, and everything comfortable. The Yankees came along and destroyed it. They did n't leave me a fence, - not a rail nor a pale. If I had stayed here, they would n't have injured me, and I should have saved my house; but I was advised to leave. I have come back here to spend my days in this cabin. I lost everything, even my clothes; and I'm too old to begin life again."

Myself a Yankee, what could I say to console her?

A mile and a half farther on, I came to another log-house, and stopped to inquire my way of an old man standing by the gate. His countenance was hard and stern, and he eyed me, as I thought, with a sinister expression.

"You are a stranger in this country?" I told him I was. "I allow you 're from the North?"-eying me still more suspiciously.

"Yes," I replied; "I am from New England."

"I'm glad to see ye. Alight. It's a right cool morning: come into the house and warm."

I confess to a strong feeling of distrust, as I looked at him. I resolved, however, to accept his invitation. He showed me