truder; but having the "nine points of the law," he held his ground. Many a day elapsed before I heard what became of him; but I had the satisfaction of seeing him safely out of Richmond, for I stood there until his train was gone, and indeed until all were gone. One after another they rolled off; the guards dispersed; and the dépôt was forsaken and desolate, never more to be visited by Confederates. a their mercy. What will be the fate of this beautiful city? what the fate of these hitherto happy homes? what the fate of these noble-hearted and lovely women? The accounts which we had received of the burning and pillage of Columbia were fresh in our minds. After seeing the last of the Confederate Government I did what not very many in Richmond did that night-went to bed and slept soundly About half past four o'clock in the morning I was awakened from profound slumbers by a tremendous concussion. But I fell asleep again, and slept until about half an hour longer, when I was aroused by what might almost have awakened the dead. The earth seemed fairly to writhe as if in agony, the house rocked like a ship at sea, while stupendous thunders roared around. This was the blowing up of the Confederate magazine; and this was the opening gun of the august and sublime pageant of that ever-memorable day. Soon after the flames burst out from the tobacco warehouses, set on fire to prevent the tobacco from becoming spoils Some were very slow to realize what was going on. While engaged in our efforts to get place in the cars a clerical friend came up, and, recognizing us in the dark, asked if there was any chance of getting away. He said that he had been preaching down on the lines some six or seven miles below the city, and that in the afternoon the colonel of the regiment where he was advised him that he had better go up to Richmond. This, however, our friend not wishing to do, and finding that the colonel seemed to be getting his command ready to move, he thought he would go over to another point on the lines and spend the night there. But on arriving there he found that they also were go-to the enemy, and proving the cause of the tering to Richmond. As he now had no place to stay, he concluded, though reluctantly, to go along. As they advanced the numbers tending that way thickened, but still for some time he did not see the true state of the case, and it was not until he was half-way to Richmond that the unwelcome truth at last flashed upon him. He was under the influence of this fresh discovery when he encountered us in the dépôt-his mental perturbations by no means allayed by the struggle to get off, and particularly by the fact that when I pushed him up into the same car into which I had thrust my relative they repelled him; so that when I last saw him he was in a most disconsolate and hopeless condition. But he must have got off after all, as I heard of him afterward in North Carolina. During our long tarrying at the dépôt one of the batteries from below-the last, it was said— came up, carrying torches and cheering, I suppose to keep their spirits up. They moved off over the bridge, thus completing the departure of the entire army from our side of the river, and thus completing also the abandonment of the capital of the Southern Confederacy. The curtain had now fallen on one act of the stupendous drama; it was soon to rise on what, in its opening at least, would prove even more striking and impressive. But the interval between the two acts was one of painful suspense. The Government and army which for years had guarded and protected us was gone; that other army which had been stretching out its hands in vain to grasp this most coveted prize-that army which had come so near that they could hear our church-bells and we could see the flash and smoke of their guns-that army which had been so repeatedly foiled, and with such sore disappointment and terrible slaughter-that army, probably by this time exasperated and infuriated to the last degree, was to be upon us with the dawn of the coming day, and we helplessly at rific conflagration which ensued. The bridges across the river-one of them the lofty Petersburg Railroad bridge, about a mile long-were speedily long lines of flame; while on the side of the city the devouring element set to work in fearful earnest. The fire had scarcely got fairly under way when the arsenal, containing, it was said, seven hundred and fifty thousand loaded shells, and the dépôts of cartridges and fixed ammunition, with the laboratory and its combustibles, began to explode. This was not instantaneous, but continuous, resembling the cannonading and musketry of a heavy battle, and lasting through most of the day. Imagine our condition, left by our own army and anticipating the enemy's; the entire business part of the city on fire-stores, warehouses, manufactories, mills (Galligo's the largest in the world), dépôts, and bridges—all, covering acres, one sea of flame, and as an accompaniment the continuous thunder of exploding shells, and in the midst of it that long, threatening, hostile army entering to seize its prey-imagine all this, and you will probably conclude that those who were there will not soon forget that third day of April, 1865, in Richmond. Our unwelcome visitors were not so quick to avail themselves of the now open door into Richmond as we had anticipated, some hours elapsing before the first of them made their appearance. My host, anxious to get his ship in order for the coming storm, went down to his place of business early in the morning, and returning soon afterward, announced to us that "the Yankees" were in the city, he had seen the first of them pass up Main Street. It would be impossible to convey to any one not of our way of thinking and feeling the impression produced by that piece of intelligence; the disappointment and regret, the realization that all we had been looking and hoping and struggling for through weary years was gone, and that all we had most deprecated had come; that our mortal foe was at last in the fruition of the spoils he had most desired; that the fortunes of war had made him our master, and placed us in the position of a conquered people. Such thoughts, mingled with anxiety as to what was to be our fate, flowed freely through our minds when assured beyond all doubt that "the Yankees" were in the city. Notwithstanding the uncertainty as to how far it would be safe for a citizen to venture out, I determined to make the experiment, and see what was to be seen. Never expecting and fervently hoping never again to have the opportunity to see a victorious army enter a conquered capital, I was willing to run some risk. Moreover, I wished if possible to save some valuable papers I had down town from what now threatened to be an almost unlimited conflagration. tion of elegant and luxurious repose was the happy consummation to which she congratulated herself this glorious day was to introduce her. Becoming after a while sufficiently assured to venture beyond our post of observation in the Powhatan piazza, I pushed through the swarthy crowd around into Governor Street, just opposite the Governor's house. Scarcely had I reached this point when the first body of colored cavalry came moving up the hill. Their appearance called forth a greeting from their brethren in the streets. No sooner had the cavalry fairly comprehended by whom they were surrounded than they returned the greeting with a will, rising in their stirrups, waving their flashing sabres, their white eyes and teeth gleaming from rows of dark visages, and rending the air with wild huzzas. Considering that they had been slaves, that they were suddenly released and armed, and that they were now entering our city as conquerors, one could not look upon these men without a shudder at the possible impending horrors. I found the streets thronged with the black population, but almost absolutely and literally forsaken by the whites. Richmond seemed in a night to have been transformed into an African city. On getting down as far as the Powhatan House, opposite the Capitol, I at length espied Passing on down Governor Street I persevered one white man, and as he proved to be an old until I reached Main Street. Here the spectaacquaintance I joined him, and we stood to- cle again was most remarkable. The progress gether in the piazza looking on at the spectacle. of the fire rendered it certain that the contents The United States flag was floating from the of the stores and shops would be destroyed, and Capitol-a sight which had not been seen for hence, possibly, the throngs of negroes set to many a day; but instead of taking the place of the work of helping themselves to whatever they the Confederate flag, it was put up, through liked. Here would come one rolling before some mistake, on the opposite end of the build-him a barrel of flour; here another with a bag ing, thus occupying the place of the State flag; of coffee or sugar upon his back; another with and thus, as some facetiously suggested, unin- a bag full of shoes; another with four or five tentionally symbolizing the triumph of Federal bolts of cotton cloth on his head; another with centralized power over States Rights. The au- a bolt of woolen goods under his arm; a woman thorities were probably never apprised of the with an armful of hoop-skirts; a girl with a faux pas, inasmuch as the Stars and Stripes box of spool thread-and so on through the were still waving over the old Virginia end of crowd. But yesterday these articles-run at the building when I left, some weeks after- great risk and expense through the blockadeward. were bringing fabulous prices; to-day he who wills may have them for the carrying away. Never in the history of Richmond were the colored population so well stocked with necessaries and luxuries. Some of the troops had stacked their arms in the Capitol Square, and were gazing curiously around; others were marching thither through the street before us. The latter attracted much attention from the colored crowds who thronged the sidewalks. I watched with some interest the swarthy spectators, anxious to see how they regarded the advent of those whose coming promised to introduce them to liberty and political equality. A large portion of them-very much the largest, I think-simply looked on, as upon any other novel and remarkable spectacle. Here and there a man waved his hat and huzzaed. The most marked demonstrations were the shaking of hands by those nearest with the passing troops, much of which was done. Some of the women courtesied and bowed at a great rate. One little weazened-faced old woman, her head crowned with a conical turban, seized a soldier's hand in both of hers, and shaking it up and down like a pump-handle, said, "Welcum, masta! you's welcum! Glad to see you, Sah-glad to see you! Thank de Lord, dese hands do no mo' wurk!" A condi En Continuing to thread my way through the crowd, I reached the point on Main Street for which I was aiming. The papers I was in quest of were in a room on the fourth floor, which had to be reached through a store on the first-floor, a tailor's shop on the second, and so on. tering the store, whose doors were wide open, I saw no one but a colored man, who was filling a bag with shoes from the shelves, all the while talking to himself, and swearing he would have them. And have them he did, for there was no longer any one there to dispute his right. Ascending to the tailor's shop I found it deserted, and the rolls of cloth for which hundreds of dollars a yard had been asked lying there waiting to be burned up. While getting together my papers the flames burst through the windows opposite, and came lashing half-way across the street. There was no time to lose; and as I emerged from the front-door the heated atmos phere was already most stifling. I cast a farewell look up Main Street. The Dispatch and Enquirer newspaper offices were all in a blaze, the banks and the American Hotel were just catching, and from the doors and windows of some of the fashionable stores volumes of flame were bursting. Up to this time I do not remember to have seen a fire-engine at work. The young men had left with the evacuating army; the older men, fearing pillage and violence to their families, remained at home to do what they could to protect them; and consequently there was nobody to look after the fire. I myself went to one of the Federals, and told him that unless they went to work to arrest the conflagration the entire city would be swept away. Soon after the military authorities organized the crowds of blacks as a fire corps, and this with their own efforts, and the steam-engines at length brought to play, was instrumental in checking and ultimately stopping the tempest of fire. But all the forenoon, and till well on in the aft ernoon, flame and smoke and burning brands and showers of blazing sparks filled the air, spreading still further the destruction, until it had swept before it every bank, every auction store, every insurance office, nearly every commission house, and most of the fashionable stores, together with one of the prominent churches, and, as before-mentioned, immense mills, manufactories, foundries, etc. Seldom has a city, in proportion to its population and wealth, suffered so terribly. Sad, indeed, was the spectacle afterward of those acres of ruin, and sadder that of the many worthy citizens from whom the hard earnings of a lifetime had thus been wrested in an hour. Of all the days of my life that eventful and terrible day seemed the longest. Not having my watch about me, I could not well judge the flight of time. At last, when I thought it must be toward four o'clock in the afternoon, I inquired the time, and found to my astonishment that it was only twelve o'clock. It seemed as if that day would never end. old-fashioned three-cent piece. Some of us spent most of the time sitting on the front steps talking over the past, the present, and the most uncertain future. When occasionally a friend passed we would call him in, or he would call himself-both parties happy to have some mode of relieving the tedium. As to the Confederacy, we gave that up with the fall of Richmond, thinking that General Lee would probably fall back into the interior, and there, after considderable delay and worrying, make the best terms for peace on the basis of the Union restored. But we did not anticipate so speedy a finality, nor of the sort which occurred. Various rumors reached us from day to day of disasters to the Confederates; but as these all came through our conquerors we gave them small credence. At length, one night my host informed me that the sentinel near our door had just told him that General Lee had surrendered. Though we did not credit it, it seemed worth inquiring into. On further interrogation we were assured that the news was official; and soon all remaining doubts were dispelled by the salvos of artillery from the Capitol Square saluting the tidings of the surrender of the Southern Army and the downfall of the Southern Confederacy. Such an event was, of course, a crushing disappointment to those who, through years of sacrifice and struggle, had staked their earthly hopes and all upon the success of the cause; but, to their credit be it said, most of them seemed to recognize in the event the voice of God deciding by his providence the great question. Though this decision differed widely from what they had anticipated, they knew that the great Arbiter of all human affairs does all things well, and that it was their duty humbly and cheerfully to acquiesce. The Government to which they had acknowledged allegiance for four years being no more, and that under which they had previously lived being now restored, there was but one course open, and that was to endeavor to prove themselves henceforth good and faithful citizens of the United States. Very agreeable was the disappointment at the Time will no doubt wear away the hostile behavior of the victorious army. Whether it feelings engendered by bloody war, and once was because, notwithstanding all that had oc- more restore to terms of friendly intercourse curred, there was still some lingering feeling of those who were arrayed in this bitter, deadly respect for the capital of the Old Dominion, or strife; but no lapse of time can erase the memwhether the terrific calamity falling upon the ories of the fearful scenes which marked the city at the moment disarmed all purpose to in- progress of the dreadful drama, and in the hisflict further injury, we could not tell; but what tory which is to record them for coming genermost concerned us was the fact that, with few ations will stand, as not the least conspicuous, exceptions, the troops behaved astonishingly that which has formed the topic of the present well, and were remarkably courteous and re-sketch-the Fall of Richmond. spectful. Some cases of outrage were committed in the suburbs, but every attempt of the sort in the city, of which I heard, was followed by condign punishment. MTS MISS LETITIA. [ISS LETITIA put aside the muslin curtains from her window, and looked out. She The days which followed that ever-memorable third of April were eminently days of leis- had just made her toilet for afternoon, and she Nobody had any thing to do. All busi- was, as usual, neat almost to primness. Her ness was brought to a sudden stand-still. Few sombre gray dress was enlivened by no bits of had any money; my own stock amounted to an bright-colored ribbon. It fell without a particle ure. Her something was always happening to prevent their meeting, to hold them asunder. Miss Letitia wondered often whose fault it was. It seemed to her that the change dated as far back as the time when her old, well-beloved hope had died; and she speculated now and then whether she could have been cold and careless to Grace in that time of grief, and so wounded her that they never could be quite the same to each other any more. of trimming in soft folds to her feet. Every one called her "Miss Letitia"-the days when she was "Letty" were gone with her lost girlhood. That "Something sweet, Which follows youth with flying feet," would never come back to her any more. There were graves in the church-yard on whose white stones were chiseled the names of her father and mother and her one brother. There was a deeper grave in her heart, over which no tombstone gleamed, where the tenderest hope of her life lay sleeping. Miss Letitia was all alone. "Mother is very sick," said the voice of the little blue-eyed girl, waiting at the door, "and she wants to have you come and see her, if you will be so kind, right off." "I will, indeed I will." And tears sprang to Miss Letitia's eyes, and her calm face quivered a little. She did not think of Mrs. Parmeleea silent, grave woman, two years older than herself-but of laughing Grace Anderson, with her merry ways, and petulant airs, and fervent caresses. Back through the years went her thoughts to the old time when they were both young, and so loved each other. She tied on her bonnet, and pinned her shawl, and hurried across the fields by the little girl's side. In half an hour she stood in the silent, shaded room where her old friend lay. When she came to the bedside she started with amazement. It seemed to her as if the But she had grown used to loneliness, and hardly knew how sad it was. She looked out on the landscape, bright with its earliest Oc-years had turned backward, and the Grace of tober glories-hills crowned with trees whose the old days were indeed with her again. The boughs were touched with gold and flame-haze fever which was running riot in the sick woin the air-blue asters in the highway-golden- man's veins had restored more than the beauty rod nodding at the gate. She heard a wind, of her youth. A clear, intense color flamed slow, mournful, inexpressibly profound and ten- on her cheeks, and a strange light kindled her der, and sighed a little at the thought of long, great dark eyes. Her hair was tossed back over still winter evenings to come. The dead hope the pillow, and her face wore an eager, longin her heart rose from its deep grave, and stood ing, expectant look. When she saw Miss Lebeside her in all the glory of youth and grace-titia at her bedside she grew excited. too dear a ghost of a past too dear! This wind, "You are come," she cried, "with kindness which sighed and sung as if murmuring some looking from your eyes. You won't smile at me weird incantation, had summoned as with a spell when you go away. Leave us alone," and she old, haunting memories, and familiar names made an imperious gesture to the nurse who sat rushed unbidden to the lone woman's lips. But at the foot of the bed. she did not utter them-too many years had still face and quiet lips been learning the lesson of calmness. She was so tranced in thought that it seemed to her like a call from a strange outside world with which she had nothing to do-she sitting among her dreams-when the knocker on her front-door gave forth a sound, sharp yet uncertain, as if touched by a hand at once eager and timorous. She opened the door, and saw a child standing there with wistful face-Deacon Parmelee's little girl, sole fruit of his first marriage. Her own mother was in heaven, but her stepmother-the deacon's second wife-had been the one friend of Miss Letitia's early youth. Through all the gay, girlhood days Letitia Mason and Grace Anderson had been as inseparable as shadow and substance. Since they had grown past girlhood an unexplained coldness had seemed to arise between them. They were friends still at least Grace, now Mrs. Parmelee, made fervent professions of friendship-only VOL. XXXIII.-No. 193-G The woman arose quietly. "Mrs. Parmelee," she said, "it is most dangerous for you to excite yourself—I give you fair warning. I should not have permitted this interview on my own judgment; but since the doctor consented to it the responsibility does not rest with me." Then she went out slowly, and the patient laughed-a shrill, strange laugh, which almost struck fear to the listener's heart. "Yes, the doctor knew I should die," she cried. "A little excitement more or less won't matter. I felt a week ago when I was taken that my time had come. I waited though, before I sent for you, until other eyes besides my own could see that there wasn't the ghost of a chance left for my life." "Grace, dear," Miss Letitia said, soothingly, going back unconsciously to the phraseology of their young days, "don't talk so. People who are ill do not always die. There is hope for you yet." "No! Do you think I don't know my own | burst like a moan from Miss Letitia's quivering doom? I tell you death has been nearer than lips. any other watcher to my bedside ever since I've "I think I felt worse about it than ever, after lain here. I should not have sent for you if II married the deacon. I didn't love him. That had not known there was no escape." "And why not for me?" Miss Letitia asked, with a gentle reproach in her voice. "Am I not your old friend, who has loved you all these years ?" "And who will hate me to-night," the other said, in a tone sadder and more hopeless than any words can describe. "I sent for you to confess a great wrong. I dare not die with it on my conscience, and carry it with me silently into the other world. Letitia, you loved Nelson Guthrie, and he loved you." Burning blushes swept up to Miss Letitia's pale cheeks-her heart seemed to stand still. She thought she could not bear any more. "Do not speak of that, Grace," she cried, wildly; "it is dead, that old dream. Let it rest in its grave!" "But I must speak, or I can not rest in mine. Letitia, I did love you; but oh, I loved him so well! I would have sold my soul for his lovedid sell it, perhaps; I do not know. I separated you-I, your friend, your sister, as you used to call me in those days. I made him think that you were deceiving him-that you loved some one else, and were not worthy of him. He was haughty and passionate, and I was crafty. I put a gulf between you that I knew you were too proud and he too angry to try to cross. Then my punishment began. I had hoped to win his love, expected he would turn to me in his disappointment, but my plan failed utterly. I think I had made myself hateful in his eyes by opening them, as he fancied, to the flaws in his idol. It was not a year before he had married Margaret Cross. He did it, I know, in very desperation. He did not love her then, however it has been since. I think I always thought-that if I had known of the marriage before it took place I should have gone to him and prevented it by telling the truth; but I don't know—I might not have had the courage. At any rate, I heard nothing of it until the wedding was over, and then it was too late. "It was no longer in my power to make any reparation. It would do him no good to know what he had lost; and I thought you would get over it easier to believe him false than to know how you had both been betrayed. So I made up my mind to carry the secret with me to my grave. But as years passed the burden grew heavy, and I wrote the whole story out, sealed it up, and put directions on the outside that it should be given to him after my death. I never meant, you see, that any one should know it until I was past the sound of earthly reproaches. So I went on, and tried to treat you as your old friend might-grown older and colder with time, but your friend still-I meant to go on so to the end." "Oh, I wish you had, I wish you had!" was over for me-the fierce flame had burned out and left my heart waste and sere. Nothing earthly could ever kindle it again. I married because it seemed a good thing to do; and then I was so lonely I wanted something to fill up my long days. But after a while I began to see how good the deacon was-how true he was-how honest and upright. The spirit of his life seemed to haunt and accuse me continually. I began-seeing the distance between us-to feel what it was to be a lost soul. I believe these thoughts, which have had strong possession of me all summer, brought on my fever. They were with me until it got to seem that every wind was the reproving voice of God, and every sunbeam a ray from his reproachful eye. I grew sick at last, and I knew death was coming. Letitia, I dared not die until I had told you. I can offer no atonement-I do not expect you will forgive me. If you could I should not fear so much to go out into the dark." She shook with a dumb, shivering terror, and then lay still, uttering no farther entreaty, speaking no word more-only fixing her great dark eyes on the woman she had wronged, with a look in their depths so full of anguish and supplication that it was mightier than words. Miss Letitia seemed dumb, as one turned suddenly to marble. She had loved Nelson Guthrie with her life's one love; and this woman lying here had separated them—taken away her bread and given her a stone-darkened her sunshine-reft from her all the hope and promise of her existence. Could she forgive? Did God require it of her? And yet-to-morrow it might be too late to speak her forgiveness. Would she have a lost soul wailing in wordless anguish at her side for evermore? Must she not forgive even this-lend to the parting spirit what she might of ease and comfort-if she hoped in her turn to be forgiven of God? After all, now that she knew the uttermost-knew that when all things should be made clear she would stand fair and honored in her old love's sight-ought she not to find it easy to forgive a wrong bounded by the compass of this earthly life? What if, in loneliness and sorrow, she must go down to her grave-she knew now that he whom she loved had not been false or unworthy-that she need not turn away from him when he should come to her side in the world of spirits. She looked into the beseeching eyes which met hers, as the deacon's wife, cried out again, rent by the anguish of her suspense "Speak to me-your silence tortures me. Let me know my doom. Forgive me, or curse me!" Miss Letitia bent over her, and took in her own the hand burning with fever. "Yes," she said, slowly, "I forgive you. |