n were killed, Mr. and
Mrs. Dorsey removed to Texas. They afterwards returned to Louisiana;
and in 1875, upon the death of Mr. Dorsey, Mrs. Dorsey made her home
at "Beauvoir," her place in Mississippi. Here she spent her time in
writing, and also acted as amanuensis to Jefferson Davis in his great
work, "Rise and Fall of the Confederacy." At her death, which occurred
at New Orleans, whither she had gone for treatment, she left
"Beauvoir" by will to Mr. Davis and his daughter Winnie.

Her "Life of Allen" is of great historical and biographical merit.

WORKS.

Recollections of Henry Watkins Allen, of Louisiana.
Lucia Dare, [novel].
Atalie, or a Southern Villeggiatura.
Agnes Graham, [novel].
Panola, a Tale of Louisiana.

A CONFEDERATE EXILE ON HIS WAY TO MEXICO, 1866.

(_From Recollections of Henry W. Allen, Ex-Gov. of Louisiana._[26])

The people wept over Allen's departure. They followed him with tears
and blessings, and would have forced on him more substantial tokens of
regard than words of regret. They knew he had no money--his noble
estates had long been in possession of the enemy; hundreds of
hogsheads of sugar had been carried off from his plundered
sugar-houses; his house was burned, his plantation, a wide waste of
fallow-fields, grown up in weeds. He had nothing but Confederate and
State money. One gentleman begged him to accept $5,000, in gold, _as a
loan_, since he refused it as a gift. Allen accepted five hundred.
With this small amount, his ambulance and riding-horses, he started to
Mexico. His journey through Texas was a complete ovation, instead of a
hegira. Everybody, rich and poor, vied with each other in offering
him attention and the most eager hospitality. The roof was deemed
honored that sheltered his head for the night. He stopped at Crockett,
to say "goodbye."

. . . . . . .

This conversation occurred whilst we were returning from a visit to
Gov. Moore's family. I had driven over to their cottage in a buggy, to
invite them to join us at dinner. Allen had accompanied me. . . .
These exiles were personal friends of mine. I suffered in parting with
them: for some I suffer still--for those who are still absent and
still living! Everything was very quiet and still, nothing audible but
the low murmur of our voices, when suddenly arose from the prairie
beyond us, one of the beautiful, plaintive, cattle or "salt" songs of
Texas. These wild simple melodies had a great att