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John Esten Cooke, Wearing of the Gray: Being Personal Portraits, Scenes, and Adventures of War., Stuart on the outpost: a scene at camp Qui Vive (search)
and, untouched by the foot of war. The hosts who were to trample it still lingered upon the banks of the Potomac; and the wildest fancy could not have prefigured its fate. It was a smiling country, full of joy and beauty — the domain of ancient peace; and of special attraction were the little villages, sleeping like Centreville in the hollow of green hills, or perched like Fairfax on the summit of picturesque uplands. These were old Virginia hamlets, full of recollections; here the feet of Mason and Washington had trod, and here had grown up generation after generation ignorant of war. Peace reigned supreme; the whole landscape was the picture of repose; the villages, amid the foliage of their elms or oaks, slept like birds that have nestled down to rest amid the grass and blossoms of the green spring fields. Look first upon that picture, then on this!-the picture of a region blasted by the hot breath of war. Where now was the joy of the past? where the lovely land once smiling
John Esten Cooke, Wearing of the Gray: Being Personal Portraits, Scenes, and Adventures of War., On the road to Petersburg: notes of an officer of the C. S. A. (search)
toric interest that I gaze upon this old mansion. For this is Ampthill, the former residence of the famous Colonel Archibald Cary of the first Revolution — the man of the low stature, the wide shoulders, the piercing eyes, and the stern will. He was of noble descent, being the heir apparent to the barony of Hunsdon when he died; sat in the Virginia Convention of 1776; lived with the eyes of his great contemporaries fixed on him — with the ears of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and George Mason, listening to hear him speak, and was the sort of man who will stand no nonsense. When the question of appointing Patrick Henry Dictator was agitated, Cary said to Henry's brother-in-law, Sir, tell your brother that if he is made Dictator, my dagger shall be in his breast before the sunset of that day! There spoke Cary of Ampthill, as they used to call him — a man who religiously kept his word, saying little and performing much. Hardest of the hard-headed, in fact, was this Ampthill Ca<