Saturday, 22d April.<\/p>\n
To see a whole city draped in mourning is certainly an imposing spectacle, and becomes almost grand when it is considered as an expression of universal affliction. So it is, in one sense. For the more violently \u201cSecesh\u201d the inmates, the more thankful they are for Lincoln’s death, the more profusely the houses are decked with the emblems of woe. They all look to me like \u201cnot sorry for him, but dreadfully grieved to be forced to this demonstration.\u201d So all things have indeed assumed a funereal aspect. Men who have hated Lincoln with all their souls, under terror of confiscation and imprisonment which they understand<\/em> is the alternative, tie black crape from every practicable knob and point to save their homes. Last evening the B\u2013\u2013s were all in tears, preparing their mourning. What sensibility! What patriotism! a stranger would have exclaimed. But Bella’s first remark was: \u201cIs it not horrible? This vile, vile old crape! Think of hanging it out when \u2013\u201d Tears of rage finished the sentence. One would have thought pity for the murdered man had very little to do with it.<\/p>\n Coming back in the cars, I had a rencontre<\/em> that makes me gnash my teeth yet. It was after dark, and I was the only lady in a car crowded with gentlemen. I placed little Miriam on my lap to make room for some of them, when a great, dark man, all in black, entered, and took the seat and my left hand at the same instant, saying, \u201cGood-evening, Miss Sarah.\u201d Frightened beyond measure to recognize Captain Todd<\/a>[1] of the Yankee army in my interlocutor, I, however, preserved a quiet exterior, and without the slightest demonstration answered, as though replying to an internal question. \u201cMr. Todd.\u201d \u201cIt is a long while since we met,\u201d he ventured. \u201cFour years,\u201d I returned mechanically. \u201cYou have been well?\u201d \u201cMy health has been bad.\u201d \u201cI have been ill myself\u201d; and determined to break the ice he diverged with \u201cBaton Rouge has changed sadly.\u201d \u201cI hope I shall never see it again. We have suffered too much to recall home with any pleasure.\u201d \u201cI understand you have suffered severely,\u201d he said, glancing at my black dress. \u201cWe have yet one left in the army, though,\u201d I could not help saying. He, too, had a brother there, he said.<\/p>\n He pulled the check-string as we reached the house, adding, \u201cThis is it,\u201d and absurdly correcting himself with \u201cWhere do you live?\u201d \u2013 \u201c211. I thank you. Good-evening\u201d; the last with emphasis as he prepared to follow. He returned the salutation, and I hurriedly regained the house. Monsieur stood over the way. A look through the blinds showed him returning to his domicile, several doors below.<\/p>\n I returned to my own painful reflections. The Mr. Todd who was my \u201csweetheart\u201d when I was twelve and he twenty-four, who was my brother’s friend, and daily at our home, was put away from among our acquaintance at the beginning of the war. This one, I should not know. Cords of candy and mountains of bouquets bestowed in childish days will not make my country’s enemy my friend now that I am a woman.<\/p>\n
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