nother, close following the occupation, has a spice of higher satire.
A Richmond friend had a petted maid, who--devoted and constant to her
mistress, even in those tempting days--still burned with genuine negro
curiosity for a sight of everything pertaining to "Mars' Linkum's
men"--especially for "de skule."

For swift, indeed, were the newcome saints to preach the Evangel of
alphabet; and negro schools seemed to have been smuggled in by every
army ambulance, so numerously did they spring up in the captured
Capital. So, early one day, Clarissa Sophia, the maid of color, donned
her very best and, "with shiny morning face," hied her, like anything
but a snail, to school. Very brief was her absence; her return
reticent, but pouting and with unduly tip-tilted nose. After a time
negro love for confidences conquered; and the murder came out.

The school-room had been packed and pervaded with odors--of sanctity,
or otherwise--when a keen-nosed and eager school-marm rose up to exhort
her class. She began by impressing the great truth that every sister
present was "born free and equal;" was "quite as good" as she was.

"Wa' dat yo's sain' now?" interrupted Clarissa Sophia. "Yo' say Ise
jess ekal as yo' is?"

"Yes; I said so," was the sharp retort, "and I can prove it!"

"Ho! 'Tain't no need," replied the lately disenthralled. "Reck'n I is,
sho' nuff. But does yo' say dat Ise good as missus?--_my_ missus?"

"Certainly you are!" This with asperity.

"Den Ise jess gwine out yere, rite off!" cried Clarissa Sophia, suiting
action to word--"Ef Ise good as _my_ missus, I'se goin' ter quit; fur I
jess know _she_ ent 'soshiatin' wid no sich wite trash like you is!"

And so--under all skies and among all colors--the war dragged its weary
length out; amid sufferings and sacrifices, which may never be
recorded; and which were still illumined by the flashes of unquenchable
humor--God's tonic for the heart!

Had every camp contained its Froissart--had every social circle held
its Boswell--what a record would there be, for reading by generations
yet unborn!

But--when finished, as this cramped and quite unworthy chronicle of
random recollections is--then might the reader still quote justly her
of Sheba, exclaiming:

"And behold! the one-half of the greatness of thy wisdom was not told
me!"

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

While neither in itself--perhaps not the combination of the two--was
final and conclus