Old Friends

In order to introduce a pleasant chapter of my life, I must take a slight retrospective glance. Mrs. Ann[e] Garland, the mistress from whom I purchased my freedom in St. Louis, had five daughters, all lovely, attractive girls. I used to take pride in dressing the two eldest, Miss Mary and Miss Carrie, for parties. Though the family labored under pecuniary embarrassment, I worked for these two young girls, and they were always able to present a good appearance in society. They were much admired, and both made the best matches of the season. Miss Mary married Dr. Pappan, and Miss Carrie, Dr. John Farrow. I loved them both tenderly, and they were warmly attached to me. Both are now dead, and when the death-film was gathering in the eyes, each called for me and asked to die in my arms. Miss Carrie did not long survive her sister, and I wept many tears over the death-beds of the two lovely flowers that had blossomed so sweetly beneath my eyes. Each breathed her last in the arms that had sheltered them so often in the bright rosy period of life. My mother took care of my son, and Miss Nannie Garland, the fourth daughter, when a wee thing, became my especial charge. She slept in my bed, and I watched over her as if she had been my own child. She called me Yiddie, and I could not have loved her more tenderly had she been the sister of my unfortunate boy. She was about twelve years old when I purchased my freedom, and resigned my charge to other hands. After Mr. Garland's death, the widow moved to Vicksburg, Mississippi, and I lost sight of the family for a few years. My mother accompanied them to Vicksburg, where she died. I made two visits to Vicksburg as a free woman, the object of my second visit being to look after the few effects left by my mother. As I did not visit my mother's grave at the time, the Garlands were much surprised, but I offered no explanation. The reason is not difficult to understand. My mother was buried in a public ground, and the marks of her grave, as I learned, were so obscure that the spot could not be readily designated. To look upon a grave, and not feel certain whose ashes repose beneath the sod, is painful, and the doubt which mystifies you, weakens the force, if not the purity, of the love-offering from the heart. Memory preserved a sunny picture of my mother's face, and I did not wish to weave sombre threads—threads suggestive of a deserted grave-yard—into it, and thus impair its beauty. After spending a few weeks with the family, I returned to St. Louis, and then came North. The war broke out, and I lost all trace of the Garlands. Often, during my residence in Washington, I recalled the past, and wondered what had become of those who claimed my first duty and my first love. When I would mention their names and express interest in their welfare, my Northern friends would roll up their eyes in surprise.

To introduce a pleasant chapter of my life, I must first look back a little. Mrs. Ann[e] Garland was the mistress from whom I purchased my freedom in St. Louis. She had five daughters, all lovely, attractive girls. I used to take pride in dressing the two eldest, Miss Mary and Miss Carrie, for parties. Though the family struggled financially, I worked for the two young women. They were always able to look well dressed in society. They were much admired, and both made the best matches of the season. Miss Mary married Dr. Pappan, and Miss Carrie married Dr. John Farrow. I loved them both tenderly, and they were deeply attached to me. Both are now dead. As each was dying, she called for me and asked to die in my arms. Miss Carrie did not live long after her sister. I wept many tears at the deathbeds of those two lovely flowers who had blossomed so sweetly before my eyes. Each breathed her last in the arms that had so often sheltered her during the bright, rosy days of life. My mother took care of my son. Miss Nannie Garland, the fourth daughter, became my special charge when she was very small. She slept in my bed, and I watched over her as if she were my own child. She called me Yiddie. I could not have loved her more tenderly if she had been my unfortunate boy's sister. She was about twelve when I purchased my freedom and left her in the care of others. After Mr. Garland's death, his widow moved to Vicksburg, Mississippi, and I lost touch with the family for a few years. My mother went with them to Vicksburg, where she died. I visited Vicksburg twice as a free woman. My second visit was to look after the few belongings my mother had left. The Garlands were very surprised that I did not visit her grave then, but I offered no explanation. The reason is not difficult to understand. My mother was buried in a public burial ground. I learned that the markers on her grave were so indistinct that the spot could not easily be identified. It is painful to look at a grave and not know whose remains lie beneath it. That uncertainty weakens the force, if not the purity, of the love one offers from the heart. My memory held a sunny picture of my mother's face. I did not want to weave dark threads into that picture, threads suggesting a deserted graveyard, and spoil its beauty. After spending a few weeks with the family, I returned to St. Louis and then came North. The war broke out, and I lost all trace of the Garlands. While living in Washington, I often remembered the past. I wondered what had become of those who had claimed my first duty and my first love. When I mentioned their names and expressed concern for their welfare, my Northern friends would roll their eyes in surprise.

"Why, Lizzie, how can you have a kind thought for those who inflicted a terrible wrong upon you by keeping you in bondage?" they would ask.

“Lizzie, how can you think kindly of those who did you such a terrible wrong by keeping you in bondage?” they would ask.

"You forget the past is dear to every one, for to the past belongs that golden period, the days of childhood. The past is a mirror that reflects the chief incidents of my life. To surrender it is to surrender the greatest part of my existence—early impressions, friends, and the graves of my father, my mother, and my son. These people are associated with everything that memory holds dear, and so long as memory proves faithful, it is but natural that I should sigh to see them once more."

“You forget that the past is dear to everyone because it holds that golden time, childhood. The past is a mirror that reflects the most important events of my life. To give up the past is to give up the greatest part of my life. That includes my earliest impressions, my friends, and the graves of my father, my mother, and my son. These people are connected to everything I hold dear in my memory. As long as my memory remains faithful, it is only natural that I should long to see them again.”

"But they have forgotten you. They are too selfish to give a single thought to you, now that you no longer are their slave."

"But they have forgotten you. Now that you are no longer their slave, they are too selfish to give you a single thought."

"Perhaps so, but I cannot believe it. You do not know the Southern people as well as I do—how warm is the attachment between master and slave."

"Perhaps so, but I can't believe it. You don't know the Southern people as well as I do. You don't know how warm the bond is between master and slave."

My Northern friends could not understand the feeling, therefore explanation was next to useless. They would listen with impatience, and remark at the close, with a shrug of the shoulders, "You have some strange notions, Lizzie."

My Northern friends could not understand the feeling, so explaining it was nearly useless. They would listen impatiently. Then they would shrug their shoulders and say, "You have some strange ideas, Lizzie."

In the fall of 1865 a lady called on me at my apartments in Washington. Her face looked familiar, but I could not place her. When I entered the room, she came towards me eagerly:

In the fall of 1865, a woman visited me at my apartment in Washington. Her face looked familiar, but I could not remember who she was. When I entered the room, she came eagerly toward me:

"You are surprised to see me, I know. I am just from Lynchburg, and when I left cousin Ann[e] I promised to call and see you if I came to Washington. I am here, you see, according to promise."

"I know you're surprised to see me. I just came from Lynchburg. When I left cousin Ann[e], I promised to visit you if I came to Washington. So here I am, as promised."

I was more bewildered than ever.

I was more confused than ever.

"Cousin Ann[e]! Pardon me—"

"Cousin Ann[e]! Excuse me..."

"Oh, I see you do not recognize me. I am Mrs. General Longstreet, but you knew me when a girl as Bettie Garland."

"Oh, I see you don't recognize me. I'm Mrs. General Longstreet, but you knew me as a girl named Bettie Garland."

"Bettie Garland! And is this indeed you? I am so glad to see you. Where does Miss Ann[e] live now?" I always called my last mistress, Miss Ann[e].

"Bettie Garland! Is it really you? I am so glad to see you. Where does Miss Ann[e] live now?" I always called my last mistress Miss Ann[e].

"Ah! I thought you could not forget old friends. Cousin Ann[e] is living in Lynchburg. All the family are in Virginia. They moved to the old State during the war. Fannie is dead. Nannie has grown into a woman and is married to General Meem. Hugh was killed in the war, and now only Spot, Maggie, and Nannie are left."

"Ah! I thought you couldn't forget old friends. Cousin Ann[e] lives in Lynchburg. The whole family is in Virginia. They moved back to Virginia during the war. Fannie is dead. Nannie is now a grown woman and is married to General Meem. Hugh was killed in the war, and now only Spot, Maggie, and Nannie are left."

"Fannie, dead! and poor Hugh! You bring sad news as well as pleasant. And so my little pet is married? I can hardly believe it; she was only a child when I saw her last."

"Fannie is dead! And poor Hugh! You bring sad news as well as happy news. So my little pet is married? I can hardly believe it. She was only a child when I last saw her."

"Yes, Nannie is married to a noble man. General Meem belongs to one of the best families in Virginia. They are now living at Rude's Hill, up beyond Winchester, in the Shenandoah Valley. All of them want to see you very badly."

"Yes, Nannie is married to a noble man. General Meem comes from one of the best families in Virginia. They now live at Rude's Hill, beyond Winchester, in the Shenandoah Valley. All of them want to see you very much."

"I should be delighted to go to them. Miss Bettie, I can hardly realize that you are the wife of General Longstreet; and just think, you are now sitting in the very chair and the very room where Mrs. Lincoln has often sat!"

“I would be delighted to go to them. Miss Bettie, I can hardly believe you are General Longstreet’s wife. And just think, you are sitting in the very same chair and room where Mrs. Lincoln has often sat!”

She laughed: "The change is a great one, Lizzie; we little dream to-day what to-morrow will bring forth. Well, we must take a philosophical view of life. After fighting so long against the Yankees, General Longstreet is now in Washington, sueing for pardon, and we propose to live in peace with the United States again."

She laughed: "It's a big change, Lizzie. We have little idea today what tomorrow will bring. Well, we must take a philosophical view of life. After fighting the Yankees for so long, General Longstreet is now in Washington asking for a pardon. And we intend to live in peace with the United States again."

I had many questions to ask her about old friends, and the time passed rapidly. She greeted me with the frankness that she had always extended to me, and I was transported to days of the long-ago. Her stay in Washington was brief, as the General arranged his business, and they left the capital the next day.

I had many questions to ask her about old friends, and the time passed quickly. She greeted me with her usual openness, and I felt transported back to days long ago. Her stay in Washington was brief. The General attended to his business, and they left the capital the next day.

Mrs. Longstreet gave me the Garlands' address, and I wrote to them, expressing the hope that I would be able to see them before long. In reply came letters full of tender sympathy and affection. In the winter of 1865, Miss Nannie wrote to me that she had the best husband in the world; that they designed going to housekeeping in the spring, and that they would be glad to have me make them a visit in July, 1866. She sent me a pressing invitation. "You must come to me, dear Lizzie," she wrote. "We are now living at Rude's Hill. I am dying to see you. Ma, Maggie, Spot, and Minnie, sister Mary's child, are with me, and you only are needed to make the circle complete. Come; I will not take no for an answer."

Mrs. Longstreet gave me the Garlands' address, and I wrote to them, hoping to see them soon. They replied with letters full of tender sympathy and affection. In the winter of 1865, Miss Nannie wrote that she had the best husband in the world. She and her husband planned to set up a household in the spring. She said they would be glad to have me visit in July 1866. She urged me to come. "You must come to me, dear Lizzie," she wrote. "We are now living at Rude's Hill. I am dying to see you. Ma, Maggie, Spot, and Minnie, sister Mary's child, are with me. Only you are needed to make the circle complete. Come. I will not take no for an answer."

I was anxious to go myself, and when I received the urgent invitation I concluded to go at once, and I wrote them to expect me in August. On the 10th of August I left Washington for Virginia, taking the train for Harper's Ferry. The journey was attended with several disappointments. We arrived at Harper's Ferry in the night, and being asleep at the time, I was carried to the station beyond, where I had to wait and take the return train. After returning to Harper's Ferry, where I changed cars for Winchester, I missed the train, and was detained another day. From Winchester the only way to reach Rude's Hill was by a line of stages. We commenced the weary drive in the evening, and rode all night. A young gentleman in the stage said that he knew General Meem well, and that he would tell me when we reached the place. Relying upon him, I went to sleep, and it appears that the polite young gentleman followed my example. About four o'clock in the morning one of the passengers shook me, and asked:

I was eager to go myself, so when the urgent invitation came, I decided to go at once. I wrote to tell them to expect me in August. On August 10, I left Washington for Virginia, taking the train to Harper's Ferry. The journey brought several disappointments. We arrived at Harper's Ferry at night, and I was asleep, so I was carried on to the next station. There I had to wait for a train back. After returning to Harper's Ferry, I missed the train to Winchester and had to wait another day. From Winchester, the only way to reach Rude's Hill was by stagecoach. We began the tiring drive in the evening and rode all night. A young gentleman in the stagecoach said he knew General Meem well and would tell me when we arrived. Trusting him, I went to sleep, and it seems the polite young gentleman did the same. Around four in the morning, one of the passengers shook me and asked:

"Aunty, don't you want to get out at Rude's Hill?"

"Aunty, don't you want to get out at Rude's Hill?"

I started up, rubbing my eyes. "Yes. Are we there?"

I sprang up, rubbing my eyes. "Yes. Are we there?"

"More than there. We have passed it."

"More than there. We have passed it."

"Passed it!"

"Passed it!"

"Yes. It is six miles back. You should not sleep so soundly, Aunty."

"Yes. It's six miles back. You shouldn't sleep so soundly, Aunty."

"Why did you not tell me sooner? I am so anxious to be there."

"Why did you not tell me sooner? I am so eager to be there."

"Fact is, I forgot it. Never mind. Get out at this village, and you can find conveyance back."

"The truth is, I forgot it. Never mind. Get out at this village, and you can find a ride back."

The village, New Market, was in a dilapidated condition; everything about it spoke plainly of the sad destruction of war. Getting out of the stage I went into a house, by courtesy named a hotel, where I obtained a cup of coffee.

The village of New Market was in ruins. Everything about it clearly showed the sad destruction caused by war. After getting out of the stagecoach, I went into a house that could only politely be called a hotel. There I got a cup of coffee.

"Is there no conveyance from here to Rude's Hill?" I asked.

"Is there no way to get from here to Rude's Hill?" I asked.

"Yes; the stage returns this evening," answered the landlord.

"Yes, the stagecoach returns this evening," the landlord replied.

"This evening! I want to go as soon as possible. I should die if I had to stay all day in this lonely place."

"This evening! I want to go as soon as possible. I would die if I had to spend all day in this lonely place."

A colored man behind the bar, seeing how earnest I was, came forward, and informed me that he would drive me over to General Meem's place in an hour. This was joyful news, and I urged him to get ready to start as soon as possible.

A colored man behind the bar saw how eager I was and came forward. He told me he would drive me to General Meem's place in an hour. I was delighted by the news and urged him to get ready to leave as soon as possible.

While standing in the door of the hotel, impatiently waiting for my colored friend to drive round with his little wagon, a fat old lady waddled across the street and greeted me.

I stood in the hotel doorway, impatiently waiting for my colored friend to drive around with his little wagon. As I waited, a fat old lady waddled across the street and greeted me.

"Ain't you Lizzie?"

"Ain't you Lizzie?"

"Yes," I answered, surprised that she should know my name.

"Yes," I answered, surprised that she knew my name.

"I thought so. They have been expecting you at Rude's Hill every day for two weeks, and they do but little but talk about you. Mrs. Meem was in town yesterday, and she said that she expected you this week certain. They will be mighty glad to see you. Why, will you believe it! they actually have kept a light burning in the front window every night for ten nights, in order that you might not go by the place should you arrive in the night."

“I thought so. They have been expecting you at Rude's Hill every day for two weeks. They do little else but talk about you. Mrs. Meem was in town yesterday, and she said she was sure you would come this week. They will be very glad to see you. Why, would you believe it! They have actually kept a light burning in the front window every night for ten nights. They did it so you wouldn't pass by the place if you arrived at night.”

"Thank you. It is pleasant to know that I am expected. I fell asleep in the stage, and failed to see the light, so am here instead of at Rude's Hill."

"Thank you. It's nice to know you were expecting me. I fell asleep in the stagecoach and missed the light, so I'm here instead of at Rude's Hill."

Just then the colored man drove up with the wagon, and I got in with him, and was soon on the road to General Meem's country-seat.

Just then, the colored man drove up with the wagon. I got in with him, and we were soon on our way to General Meem's country home.

As we drove up to Rude's Hill, I observed a young man standing in the yard, and believing it to be Spot, whom I had not seen for eight years, I beckoned to him. With an exclamation of joy, he came running towards me. His movements attracted the attention of the family, and in a minute the door was crowded with anxious, inquiring faces. "It is Lizzie! It is Lizzie!" was the happy cry from all parties. In my eagerness to get to them, I stepped from the wagon to the top of the stile, intending to make a triumphant leap into the yard; but, alas! my exultation was brief. My hoop-skirt caught on one of the posts, and I fell sprawling into the yard. Spot reached me first and picked me up, only to put me into the arms of Miss Nannie, her sister Maggie, and Mrs. Garland. Could my friends of the North have seen that meeting, they would never have doubted again that the mistress had any affection for her former slave. I was carried to the house in triumph. In the parlor I was divested of my things, and placed in an easy-chair before a bright fire. The servants looked on in amazement.

As we drove up to Rude's Hill, I saw a young man standing in the yard. I thought he was Spot, whom I had not seen for eight years, and beckoned to him. He cried out with joy and came running toward me. His movements caught the family's attention, and within a minute the doorway was crowded with anxious, questioning faces. "It is Lizzie! It is Lizzie!" everyone cried happily. Eager to reach them, I stepped from the wagon onto the top of the stile. I meant to make a triumphant leap into the yard, but, alas, my joy was short-lived. My hoop-skirt caught on one of the posts, and I fell sprawling into the yard. Spot reached me first and picked me up, only to place me in the arms of Miss Nannie, her sister Maggie, and Mrs. Garland. If my friends in the North could have seen that meeting, they would never again have doubted the mistress's affection for her former slave. I was carried triumphantly into the house. In the parlor, they took off my things and placed me in an easy chair before a bright fire. The servants looked on in amazement.

"Lizzie, you are not changed a bit. You look as young as when you left us in St. Louis, years ago," and Mrs. Meem, my foster child, kissed me again.

"Lizzie, you haven't changed a bit. You look as young as you did when you left us in St. Louis years ago." Mrs. Meem, my foster child, kissed me again.

"Here, Lizzie, this is Minnie, Minnie Pappan, sister Mary's child. Hasn't she grown?" and Miss Maggie led a tall, queenly lady up to me.

"Here, Lizzie, this is Minnie, Minnie Pappan, sister Mary's child. Hasn't she grown?" Miss Maggie led a tall, regal-looking woman up to me.

"Minnie! Poor dear Miss Mary's child! I can hardly believe it. She was only a baby when I saw her last. It makes me feel old to see how large she has grown. Miss Minnie, you are larger than—your mother was—your dear mother whom I held in my arms when she died;" and I brushed a tear from each of my eyes.

"Minnie! Poor dear Miss Mary's child! I can hardly believe it. She was only a baby when I last saw her. Seeing how much she has grown makes me feel old. Miss Minnie, you are bigger than your mother was. Your dear mother died in my arms." I brushed a tear from each eye.

"Have you had your breakfast, Lizzie?" asked Mrs. Garland.

"Have you had breakfast, Lizzie?" asked Mrs. Garland.

"No, she has not," exclaimed her children in a chorus. "I will get her breakfast for her," and Nannie, Maggie, and Minnie started for the kitchen.

“No, she hasn’t,” her children exclaimed together. “I’ll get her breakfast for her.” Nannie, Maggie, and Minnie headed for the kitchen.

"It is not necessary that all should go," said Mrs. Garland. "Here is the cook, she will get breakfast ready."

"Not everyone needs to go," said Mrs. Garland. "The cook is here. She will get breakfast ready."

But the three did not heed her. All rushed to the kitchen, and soon brought me a nice hot breakfast.

But the three did not listen to her. They all rushed to the kitchen and soon brought me a nice hot breakfast.

While I was eating, the cook remarked: "I declar, I nebber did see people carry on so. Wonder if I should go off and stay two or three years, if all ob you wud hug and kiss me so when I cum back?"

While I was eating, the cook remarked: "I declare, I never did see people carry on so. Wonder if I should go off and stay two or three years, if all of you would hug and kiss me so when I come back?"

After I had finished my breakfast, General Meem came in. He greeted me warmly. "Lizzie, I am very glad to see you. I feel that you are an old acquaintance, I have heard so much of you through my wife, her sister, and her mother. Welcome to Rude's Hill."

After I finished breakfast, General Meem came in. He greeted me warmly. "Lizzie, I'm very glad to see you. I feel as though I already know you. I've heard so much about you from my wife, her sister, and her mother. Welcome to Rude's Hill."

I was much pleased with his appearance, and closer acquaintance proved him to be a model gentleman.

I was very pleased with his appearance, and as I got to know him better, he proved to be a model gentleman.

Rude's Hill, during the war, was once occupied by General Stonewall Jackson for his head-quarters, which gave more than ordinary interest to the place. The location was delightful, but the marks of war could be seen everywhere on the plantation. General Meem was engaged in planting, and he employed a large number of servants to assist him in his work. About a mile from Rude's Hill was Mount Airy, the elegant country-seat of the General's brother. The two families visited each other a great deal, and as both entertained plenty of company, the Autumn months passed pleasantly. I was comfortably quartered at Rude's Hill, and was shown every attention. We sewed together, talking of old times, and every day either drove out, or rode on horseback. The room in which I sat in the daytime was the room that General Jackson always slept in, and people came from far and near to look at it. General Jackson was the ideal soldier of the Southern people, and they worshipped him as an idol. Every visitor would tear a splinter from the walls or windows of the room, to take away and treasure as a priceless relic.

During the war, General Stonewall Jackson once made his headquarters at Rude's Hill. This gave the place more than ordinary interest. The setting was lovely, but signs of war could be seen everywhere on the plantation. General Meem was engaged in farming and employed many servants to help him. About a mile from Rude's Hill was Mount Airy, the elegant country home of the General's brother. The two families visited each other often, and both entertained plenty of guests. The autumn months passed pleasantly. I had comfortable quarters at Rude's Hill and received every attention. We sewed together and talked of old times. Every day we went out for a drive or rode on horseback. The room where I sat during the day was the one General Jackson always slept in. People came from far and near to see it. General Jackson was the ideal soldier of the Southern people, and they worshipped him as an idol. Every visitor tore a splinter from the room's walls or windows to treasure as a priceless relic.

It did not take me long to discover that I was an object of great curiosity in the neighborhood. My association with Mrs. Lincoln, and my attachment for the Garlands, whose slave I had once been, clothed me with romantic interest.

I soon discovered that people in the neighborhood were very curious about me. My connection to Mrs. Lincoln and my affection for the Garlands gave me a romantic appeal. I had once been the Garlands’ slave.

Colonel Harry Gilmore, well known as a partisan leader in Maryland and Virginia during the war, was a frequent visitor at Mount Airy and Rude's Hill. One day I accompanied a party to a tournament, and General Meem laughed pleasantly over the change that had come to me in so short a time.

Colonel Harry Gilmore was a frequent visitor at Mount Airy and Rude's Hill. He was well known as a partisan leader in Maryland and Virginia during the war. One day, I went with a group to a tournament. General Meem laughed warmly at how much my life had changed in such a short time.

"Why, Lizzie, you are riding with Colonel Gilmore. Just think of the change from Lincoln to Gilmore! It sounds like a dream. But then the change is an evidence of the peaceful feeling of this country; a change, I trust, that augurs brighter days for us all."

"Why, Lizzie, you are riding with Colonel Gilmore. Just think of the change from Lincoln to Gilmore! It sounds like a dream. But the change shows the peaceful mood in this country. I hope it is a sign of brighter days for us all."

I had many long talks with Mrs. Garland, in one of which I asked what had become of the only sister of my mother, formerly maid to Mrs. G's mother.

I had many long talks with Mrs. Garland. During one of them, I asked what had become of my mother's only sister. She had been a maid to Mrs. Garland's mother.

"She is dead, Lizzie. Has been dead for some years. A maid in the old time meant something different from what we understand by a maid at the present time. Your aunt used to scrub the floor and milk a cow now and then, as well as attend to the orders of my mother. My mother was severe with her slaves in some respects, but then her heart was full of kindness. She had your aunt punished one day, and not liking her sorrowful look, she made two extravagant promises in order to effect a reconciliation, both of which were accepted. On condition that her maid would look cheerful, and be good and friendly with her, the mistress told her she might go to church the following Sunday, and that she would give her a silk dress to wear on the occasion. Now my mother had but one silk dress in the world, silk not being so plenty in those days as it is now, and yet she gave this dress to her maid to make friends with her. Two weeks afterward mother was sent for to spend the day at a neighbor's house, and on inspecting her wardrobe, discovered that she had no dress fit to wear in company. She had but one alternative, and that was to appeal to the generosity of your aunt Charlotte. Charlotte was summoned, and enlightened in regard to the situation; the maid proffered to loan the silk dress to her mistress for the occasion, and the mistress was only too glad to accept. She made her appearance at the social gathering, duly arrayed in the silk that her maid had worn to church on the preceding Sunday."

“She is dead, Lizzie. She has been dead for some years. In the old days, a maid was different from what we understand a maid to be today. Your aunt used to scrub the floor and milk a cow now and then, as well as follow my mother’s orders. My mother was severe with her slaves in some respects, but her heart was full of kindness. One day she had your aunt punished. She did not like seeing her look sorrowful, so she made two extravagant promises to make peace with her. Your aunt accepted both. The mistress promised to let her maid go to church the following Sunday and to give her a silk dress to wear. In return, the maid had to look cheerful and be good and friendly with her. Now, my mother had only one silk dress in the world. Silk was not as plentiful then as it is now. Yet she gave the dress to her maid to make friends with her. Two weeks later, mother was invited to spend the day at a neighbor’s house. When she looked through her wardrobe, she discovered that she had no dress fit to wear in company. She had only one choice. She had to appeal to your aunt Charlotte’s generosity. Charlotte was called in and told about the situation. The maid offered to lend the silk dress to her mistress for the occasion, and the mistress was only too glad to accept. She appeared at the social gathering dressed in the silk her maid had worn to church the previous Sunday.”

We laughed over the incident, when Mrs. Garland said: "Lizzie, during the entire war I used to think of you every day, and have longed to see you so much. When we heard you were with Mrs. Lincoln, the people used to tell me that I was foolish to think of ever seeing you again—that your head must be completely turned. But I knew your heart, and could not believe that you would forget us. I always argued that you would come and see us some day."

We laughed about the incident, and Mrs. Garland said: "Lizzie, throughout the war, I thought of you every day. I missed you so much and longed to see you. When we heard you were with Mrs. Lincoln, people told me I was foolish to think I would ever see you again. They said your head must have been completely turned by it. But I knew your heart and couldn't believe you would forget us. I always argued that you would come and see us someday."

"You judged me rightly, Miss Ann[e]. How could I forget you whom I had grown up with from infancy. Northern people used to tell me that you would forget me, but I told them I knew better, and hoped on."

"You were right about me, Miss Ann[e]. How could I forget you? We grew up together from infancy. Northern people used to tell me you would forget me. But I told them I knew better, and I kept hoping."

"Ah! love is too strong to be blown away like gossamer threads. The chain is strong enough to bind life even to the world beyond the grave. Do you always feel kindly towards me, Lizzie?"

"Ah! Love is too strong to be blown away like delicate threads. Its chain is strong enough to bind life to the world beyond the grave. Do you always feel kindly toward me, Lizzie?"

"To tell you candidly, Miss Ann[e], I have but one unkind thought, and that is, that you did not give me the advantages of a good education. What I have learned has been the study of after years."

"To be honest, Miss Ann[e], I have only one unkind thought. I wish you had given me the chance to get a good education. What I have learned, I studied in later years."

"You are right. I did not look at things then as I do now. I have always regretted that you were not educated when a girl. But you have not suffered much on this score, since you get along in the world better than we who enjoyed every educational advantage in childhood."

"You are right. I did not see things then as I do now. I have always regretted that you did not get an education as a girl. But you have not suffered much from that, since you get along in the world better than we do. We had every educational advantage as children."

I remained five weeks at Rude's Hill, and they were five of the most delightful weeks of my life. I designed going direct to Richmond, but the cholera was reported to be raging in that city, so I took the train for Baltimore. In Baltimore I stopped with Mrs. Annette Jordan. Mrs. Garland had given me a letter to Mrs. Douglas Gordon, who introduced me to several Baltimore ladies, among others Mrs. Doctor Thomas, who said to me, with tears in her eyes: "Lizzie, you deserve to meet with success for having been so kind to our friends in the days of the past. I wish there were more women in the world like you. I will always do what little I can to promote your welfare."

I stayed at Rude's Hill for five weeks, and they were five of the happiest weeks of my life. I planned to go directly to Richmond, but cholera was reportedly raging there, so I took the train to Baltimore. In Baltimore, I stayed with Mrs. Annette Jordan. Mrs. Garland had given me a letter for Mrs. Douglas Gordon, who introduced me to several Baltimore ladies. One of them was Mrs. Doctor Thomas, who said to me with tears in her eyes: "Lizzie, you deserve to succeed because you were so kind to our friends in the past. I wish there were more women like you in the world. I will always do what little I can to help you."

After remaining in Baltimore a few days, I came to the conclusion that I could do better in Washington; so I returned to the capital, and reopened my business.

After a few days in Baltimore, I decided I could do better in Washington. So I returned to the capital and reopened my business.

In the spring of 1867, Miss Maggie Garland paid a visit to Baltimore. Before leaving Virginia she said to some of her friends in Lynchburg that she designed going by Washington to see Lizzie. Her friends ridiculed the idea, but she persisted:

In the spring of 1867, Miss Maggie Garland visited Baltimore. Before leaving Virginia, she told some friends in Lynchburg that she planned to stop in Washington to see Lizzie. Her friends made fun of the idea, but she insisted:

"I love Lizzie next to mother. She has been a mother to us all. Half the pleasure of my visit is that I will be able to see her."

"I love Lizzie more than anyone except Mother. She has been a mother to us all. Half the pleasure of my visit is being able to see her."

She wrote me a letter, saying that she designed visiting me, asking if it would be agreeable. I replied, "Yes, come by all means. I shall be so glad to see you."

She wrote me a letter saying she planned to visit and asking if that would be agreeable. I replied, "Yes, please come. I will be so glad to see you."

She came and stayed at my rooms, and expressed surprise to find me so comfortably fixed.

She came to stay in my rooms and was surprised to find me living so comfortably.

I can not do better than conclude this chapter with two letters from my dear young friends, the first from Mrs. General Meem, and the second from Miss Maggie Garland. These letters show the goodness of their hearts and the frankness of their natures. I trust that they will not object to the publicity that I give them:

I can think of no better way to end this chapter than with two letters from my dear young friends. The first is from Mrs. General Meem, and the second is from Miss Maggie Garland. These letters show their kind hearts and open natures. I hope they will not object to my sharing their letters publicly:

I give only a few extracts from the pleasant letter from Miss Maggie Garland. The reader will observe that she signs herself "Your child, Mag," an expression of love warmly appreciated by me:

I include only a few excerpts from Miss Maggie Garland's pleasant letter. The reader will notice that she signs it "Your child, Mag." I deeply appreciated this expression of love: