hope of their learning wisdom until the present generation is almost extinct.

Who are to be blamed in their case? or who are resposible for their suffering and degradation? When the South was first invaded by those professing to be working for the moral, financial, mental and spiritual good of the colored race, the negro was in the hands of, and cared for, by those who were not only legally responsible for their welfare, but who, from interest and principles, treated them almost as well as their own children. As a consequence, the great mass of them were by far the most happy race of people in the world. They were increasing rapidly in numbers, and were taught principles of honor and religion. Now we see them not only the most miserable and destitute of all classes under the sun, and deserting their religious faith, and falling back into all the various heathenish superstitions and paganisms, but see how fast they are diminishing in numbers from starvation and disease. Now, who brought all this on them? Was it not their good friends, the Abolitionists, who freed them? Most assuredly so. Why could they not have been allowed to remain as they were? Then the blood of the thousands of suffering, starving and murdered men, women and children of that race would not have been required at their hands. Oh, I imagine that at the day of final retribution, many who have, in so many instances, acted the wolf in sheep's clothing towards this now fully oppressed race, will wish they had never seen a negro; or that they had have let them remain as they were, instead of being the means of their freedom, and, as a consequence, bring all the evils upon them which they are subjected to now.

While we were standing in the door gazing at the vast crowd of flying foes, our attention was attracted to a very dirty Yankee, who came dashing up and peeped in, and at the same time hurriedly enquired, "How many patients

have you here?" I answered three. You have been sending them off, ha?" "Yes; every one we could," I replied. "Are there any of the Ninth Texas here?" "No; none in your reach." They were too well hid for them to find. I afterwards learned that vengance had been sworn against that intrepid regiment, in retaliation for the way they made the Yankees bite the dust in some previous battle. While he was going on with his indignant speech, a Yank., more thievish looking than the rest, dashed up bareheaded, snatched the hat off of the head of a crippled soldier, saying, "I want this hat," and dashed off at a rapid rate. Says the Rebel, "You have the power now, and can use it; but perhaps it will not always be so." "Never mind, George," said I, "you shall have another one, as soon as I go to my room." It was really laughable to witness. the different maneuverings they went through while passing, with their grand equipments. Some of their horses seemed to be corn crib, meat house, kitchen and chamber all in one, or had all these attached to them. Not unfrequently would one cry out, "Howdy, Johnnie Reb. How are you? Our boys gave you a wounded furlough; and they shot your leg off-ah, ha. Well, all right. We are the Yanks that can whip you. Go home, and stay there. What are you fighting for? The negroes won't do you any more good. You and your negroes can both be put out of the cold, if you choose." "Southern independence is the motto under which we fight," said our boys; "and not your black equals. Never mind, Wheeler will make you sing another song in less than twenty-four hours, I'll bet my old hat."

Soon the town was rid of the whole set. And glad were we to see the last one leave; and, as the poet said,

We breathe the air again.

If ever their was a happy and grateful people, it was those of the town of Covington. And well they

might be; for the few hours they had been infested by Stoneman and his lawless vagabonds, had been hours of as severe suspense and fear as they had ever witnessed. Most of the houses had been visited by them. Strong threats had been made in regard to liberating the prisoners at Andersonville, and a warning given to the ladies that they would be sure to visit Covington, and that they would take vengeance at all places where they went for the cruel treatment they were reported to be receiving in the prison there at the hands of our men. This threat gave to the citizens, male and female, quite a fright; and many really feared that it would be put in execution. But, fortunately, the threat was never, with all their efforts, executed. There was too watchful an eye kept over their movements for any such a wholesale murderous plan to be carried out.

Quiet had began to prevail again, dinner was given to the patients, and the general duties of the evening were in progress, when suddenly another fright, more fearful than that of the morning, though it proved a hoax, that ten thousand Yankee infantry were near town, and would soon be there, and would sweep everything before them. But this all soon blew over, and all was cheerful.

Now the hidden boys came out in the fresh air, and all right. The sick left their beds, delighted at their speedy recovery. All were ready to join in the changing events of the day, and many were the merry laughs at the Yankees being so completely humbugged out of a number of Rebel prisoners. That night many of them came to the conclusion that escape was the better part of valor. Having run the risk of being captured more than once within the last few weeks, they adopted the old adage, that "a burnt child dreads the fire." Therefore, several left during the reign of danger. As a matter of course, we were necessarily compelled to remove elsewhere, as soon as the nature of the case would admit of. Several patients

were still unable to be removed; and the question was discussed, pro. and con., who should remain with them. Finally, it was left to the humble writer whether I should go out, or stay until Dr. Daniel could get out the patients whose condition compelled them to remain longer.

As the ladies had recovered from their fright, and returned to their posts, with the promise not to leave again so long as the hospital was kept up, I decided to go out, as my anxiety was very great in regard to my husband and son's welfare, whom I knew had been in the battle before Atlanta, and, for aught I knew, had been among the thousands of wounded and slain of that ever memorable day of carnage. In consulting my patients relative to the course I should pursue, they all said that it was my duty to look after my own first; that I had already done more than they could ask, and that justice to my own bade me go. Dr. Daniel was very reluctant to give me up. I referred him to the other ladies, whose homes were in town. They had pledged themselves to stay and do all they could. I said that if I thought by my absence one of the inmates would suffer neglect for one moment, or if, in so doing, I should incur the displeasure of one for whom I had labored, I would still remain and serve them, and trust to others, and to Divine power, to take care of my own, and for their safety. Each one bade me go. I then went to work, fitting up new and clean beds and bedding, and had them all cleanly dressed, and placed in the large, well ventilated ward on the first floor. Dr. Robertson directed one of the attendants to secure a wagon to take me out. By night all things were ready for our departure, and early on Sabbath morning, July 30th, I, with several of the boys, who were on crutches, took our departure from the pleasnt little town of Covington, Georgia. We were accompanied by the Misses Conner, who had seen too much of Yankee

rule to be willing to risk their hateful appearance again in their midst. Those industrious and patriotic young ladies had been sufferers by their polluted hands in the destruction of their goods; besides, they had no good feelings for them in any way, and, of course, did not want to see them again.

CHAPTER V.

In taking leave of Covington I felt as though I was leaving home, and dear, kind friends. Yes, some of the best friends I had on earth were there. I was sad at parting from them, and pleased at the prospect of getting out of danger, and where I could hear from my husband and son. I have ever experienced pleasure at the thought of possessing the best wishes of those kind Covington friends wherever my lot should be cast.

The day was exceedingly warm, and we suffered more or less from the burning rays of the mid-summer sun. But the distance being only ten miles, we were not many hours in reaching the place of our destination, Social Circle, where we expected to meet a train of cars very soon, or, at least, early the next morning.

After taking some refreshments, and resting from the toil, as well as from the burning sun, some of our party took a stroll through the little village, where we witnessed the wreck recently made by Yankee invaders. The depot house, a large hotel, and the commissary had been burned to ashes. The railroad was torn up for some distance, and all presented a general scene of desolation. The few citizens who were there seemed very kind. Mrs. Clark, a very kind widow lady, gave us a cordial invitation to take shelter under her hospitable roof for the night. We gladly accepted the invitation, and enjoyed a refresh