ons.

But nothing else has been so delightful as, one morning, my first sight of
snow and a wonderful, new, white world.

_Feb. 27, 1862_.--The people here have hardly felt the war yet. There are
but two classes. The planters and the professional men form one; the very
poor villagers the other. There is no middle class. Ducks and partridges,
squirrels and fish, are to be had. H. has bought me a nice pony, and
cantering along the shore of the lake in the sunset is a panacea for
mental worry.

VI.

How It Was In Arkansas

_March 11, 1862_.--The serpent has entered our Eden. The rancor and
excitement of New Orleans have invaded this place. If an incautious word
betrays any want of sympathy with popular plans, one is "traitorous,"
"ungrateful," "crazy." If one remains silent, and controlled, then one is
"phlegmatic," "cool-blooded," "unpatriotic." Cool-blooded! Heavens! if
they only knew. It is very painful to see lovable and intelligent women
rave till the blood mounts to face and brain. The immediate cause of this
access of war fever has been the battle of Pea Ridge. They scout the idea
that Price and Van Dorn have been completely worsted. Those who brought
the news were speedily told what they ought to say. "No, it is only a
serious check; they must have more men sent forward at once. This country
must do its duty." So the women say another company _must_ be raised.

We were guests at a dinner-party yesterday. Mrs. A. was very talkative.
"Now, ladies, you must all join in with a vim and help equip another
company."

"Mrs. L.," she said, turning to me, "are you not going to send your
husband? Now use a young bride's influence and persuade him; he would be
elected one of the officers." "Mrs. A.," I replied, longing to spring up
and throttle her, "the Bible says, 'When a man hath married a new wife, he
shall not go to war for one year, but remain at home and cheer up his
wife.'" ...

"Well, H.," I questioned, as we walked home after crossing the lake, "can
you stand the pressure, or shall you be forced into volunteering?"
"Indeed," he replied, "I will not be bullied into enlisting by women, or
by men. I will sooner take my chance of conscription and feel honest about
it. You know my attachments, my interests are here; these are my people.
I could never fight against them; but my judgment disapproves their
course, and the result will inevitably be against us."

This morning the only Irishman left in the vi