"Our deliverer, papa?"

"General Mohun."

Miss Georgia unmistakably blushed in her turn.

"Oh, I forgot!" she said, carelessly, "General Mohun _did_ drive them off. Did I not mention it?--I should have done so before finishing, papa."

As she spoke, the young lady happened to catch my eye. I was laughing quietly. Thereupon her head rose in a stately way--a decided pout succeeded--finally, she burst into laughter.

The puzzled expression of the old Judge completed the comedy of the occasion--we all laughed in a perfectly absurd and foolish way--and the rest of the evening pa.s.sed in the most cheerful manner imaginable.

When I bade my friends good evening, I knew something I had not known before:--namely, that Mohun the woman-hater, had renewed his "friendly relations" with Miss Georgia Conway, at her home in Dinwiddie.

Exchanging a pressure of the hand with my host and his charming daughters, I bade them good evening, and returned homeward. As I went along, I thought of the happy circle I had left; and again I could not refrain from drawing the comparison between Judge Conway and Mr.

Blocque.

At the fine house of the blockade-runner--champagne, rich viands, wax-lights, gold and silver, and profuse luxury.

At the poor lodgings of the great statesman,--a cup of tea and cold bread; stately courtesy from my host, charming smiles from his beautiful daughters, clad in calico, with worn-out shoes--and above the simple happy group, the crossed swords of the brave youths who had fallen at Mana.s.sas!

VIII.

MR. X-----.

It was past ten in the evening when I left Judge Conway. But I felt no disposition to retire; and determined to pay a visit to a singular character of my acquaintance.

The name of this gentleman was Mr. X-----.

Looking back now to the days spent in Richmond, in that curious summer of '64, I recall, among the representative personages whom I encountered, no individual more remarkable than the Honorable Mr.

X-----. You are acquainted with him, my dear reader, either personally or by reputation, for he was a prominent official of the Confederate Government, and, before the war, had been famous in the councils of "the nation."

He resided at this time in a small house, on a street near the capitol.

You gained access to his apartment after night--if you knew the way--by a winding path, through shrubbery, to the back door of the mansion.

When you entered, you found yourself in presence of a tall, powerful, gray-haired and very courteous personage, who sat in a huge arm-chair, near a table littered with papers, and smoked, meditatively, a cigar, the flavor of which indicated its excellent quality.

I enjoyed the intimacy of Mr. X----- in spite of the difference of our ages and positions. He had been the friend of my father, and, in my turn, did me the honor to bestow his friendship upon me. On this evening I was seized with the fancy to visit him--and pa.s.sing through the grounds of the capitol, where the bronze Washington and his great companions looked silently out into the moonlight, reached the small house, followed the path through the shrubbery, and opening the door in the rear, found myself suddenly enveloped in a cloud of cigar smoke, through which loomed the portly figure of Mr. X-----.

He was seated, as usual, in his large arm-chair, by the table, covered with papers; and a small bell near his hand seemed placed there for the convenience of summoning an attendant, without the trouble of rising.

Near the bell lay a package of foreign-looking doc.u.ments. Near the doc.u.ments lay a pile of telegraphic dispatches. In the appearance and surroundings of this man you read "Power."

Mr. X----- received me with easy cordiality.

"Glad to see you, my dear colonel," he said, rising and shaking my hand; then sinking back in his chair, "take a cigar, and tell me the news." I sat down,--having declined the proffered cigar.

"The news!" I said, laughing; "I ought to ask that of you."

"Ah! you think I am well-informed?"

I pointed to the dispatches. Mr. X----- shrugged his shoulders.

"Papers from England and France--they are not going to recognize us.

"And those telegrams--nothing. We get little that is worth attention, except a line now and then, signed 'R.E. Lee.'"

"Well, there is that signature," I said, pointing to an open paper.

"It is a private letter to me--but do you wish to see a line which I have just received? It is interesting, I a.s.sure you."

And he handed me a paper.

It was a telegram announcing the fall of Atlanta!

"Good heavens!" I said, "is it possible? Then there is nothing to stop Sherman."

"Nothing whatever," said Mr. X-----, coolly.

"What will be the consequence?"

"The Confederacy will be cut in two. Sherman will be at Savannah before Grant reaches the Southside road--or as soon, at least."

"You think Grant will reach that?"

"Yes, by April; and then--you know what!"

"But Lee will protect it."

Mr. X----- shrugged his shoulders.

"Shall I tell you a secret?"

I listened.

"Lee's force is less than 50,000--next spring it will not number 40,000. Grant's will be at least four times that."

"Why can not our army be re-enforced?"

Mr. X----- helped himself to a fresh cigar.

"The people are tired, and the conscript officers are playing a farce,"

he said. "The commissary department gives the army a quarter of a pound of rancid meat. That even often fails, for the quartermaster's department does not supply it. The result is--no conscripts, and a thousand desertions. The soldiers are starving; their wives and children are writing them letters that drive them mad--the end is not far off; and when Grant reaches the Southside road we are gone."

Mr. X----- smoked his cigar with extreme calmness as he spoke.

"But one thing remains," I said.