Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 9.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

[208] a foreign country. I must not forget to dispose of my valuable traveling-bag. I clung to it until I reached Greensburg, N. C., where I replaced it, for convenience of horseback transportation, with a pair of old-fashioned saddle-bags, or saddle-pockets, as sometimes called. To these I clung, also, until my return to Richmond in June, where and when, in turn, I replaced them with a more aristocratic species of baggage, to-wit — a black enameled-cloth carpet-sack, to which I held fast until I reached home on the 19th of June. You see I had determined to visit Washington, D. C., and thence, if not hindered, to proceed to my home in Kentucky; and it did not seem to be becoming in an ex-member of the Confederate Congress to be lugging among the elite of the Northern States, through some of which I expected to pass, a pair of rusty old saddle-bags. It would have been a reflection upon the Confederate Congress, of which I had been a member, or was then a member, for the term for which I had been last elected had not yet expired; in fact, did not expire until the 18th of February, 1866. Again, such luggage might have attracted attention to my Confederate character, which my retiring disposition forbid my then publicly parading.

The hours I remained in Richmond on that melancholy Sunday, after leaving St. Paul's, were among the saddest of my life. I felt that our cause was then the Lost Cause. Many of the scenes witnessed by me as I went to and fro through the streets of that good old city were heartrending. The bad news had spread with lightning speed all over town. Having spent much of the time during the war in Richmond I had formed many acquaintances among its noble and hospitable citizens; and, am proud to say, some of them had become my dearest friends. The men, generally, were on the street, and large numbers of the ladies stood in the doors and on the steps of their houses, many bathed in tears, making inquiries and giving utterance to woeful disappointment and anguish. Many, many times was I hailed by my acquaintances and friends from their doors as I passed along the streets with inquiries for the news; for my opinion as to the effect of the disaster, and with every variety of expression of disappointment and hopelessness, occasionally, but rarely, a very sanguine one expressing the belief that all was not yet lost, and that we should ultimately succeed in maintaining our rights and independence. The scene, as a whole, was one of bitterest sadness, such as I trust never again to behold; such as, I am sure, I shall never again witness, since such scenes rarely occur in the lifetime of any people. And certainly so grand and patriotic a people cannot deserve more than one visitation of the