d the woman.

'I would like to get a few quarts,' I said, handing her my kettle. I
took a seat on the door-step, and wondered what these six women were
doing in this lonely spot. They evidently lived alone, for not a man was
to be seen around. The table was spread for dinner, six cups, six
plates, six spoons, and no more. I was about to ask for the man of the
house, when the old woman returned with my kettle of milk.

'How much?' I asked, as I thrust my hand deep into my pocket, and drew
forth one of the few coins it was my fortune to possess.

'Only four bits,' said the ancient female.

I thought milk must have 'riz' lately, but I paid the money and left.

From observations since taken, I infer these six women were 'grass
widows,' whose husbands had enlisted in the rebel army, and left them
behind to plunder the Union troops by selling corn-bread and milk for
ten times its value.

I took a seat on a log, and congratulated myself on the prospect of a
good dinner. By the aid of a stone I managed to crumble 'two shingles'
of hard bread into a cup of the milk, and then, with an appetite such as
I never enjoyed in _America_, sat to work. I took one mouthful, when,
lo! the milk was sour! Hurling cup and contents toward the hospitable
mansion, I fell back upon my regular diet of salt pork.

Leaving the Virginia damsels to plunder the next regiment of Federals
that came along, we were soon once more on our way, and on Saturday, the
1st of June, arrived at Clarksburgh. Here we learned that the rebels had
left Grafton and gone to Phillippi, some twenty miles back in the
country. We remained at Clarksburgh until Sunday morning, when, once
more stowing ourselves 'three deep' on flats and stock cars, we
proceeded as far as Webster. Here we left the railroad, and pursued the
rebels afoot.

Webster is a big name, and there we flattered ourselves we could get
some of the comforts of life. But once again we were doomed to
disappointment. Two stores, a dozen or so of shanties, and a secession
pole, make up this mighty town. Parkersburgh is a 'right smart place;'
Clarksburgh 'isn't much to speak of;' the only thing of interest about
it is the home of Senator Carlisle; but Webster is a little the worst
place I have ever seen. I am sorry to say, in the language of the great
man whose name it bears, 'It still lives.'

Observing a shanty on the summit of a small hill, with the words, 'Meals
at all hours,' over the door, I wended my