darkness that reigned without and within. No need to ask why. All knew
that in each darkened home stricken hearts filled with an agony of
desolation struggled in vain to remember that they were mothers and
wives of heroes, but could not yet lift their eyes from the ghastly
wounds--the bloody graves of their dead.

Ah! the lovely, joyous, hopeful, patriotic days of that summer of
1861. The Confederate gray was then a thing of beauty,--the outer garb
of true and loyal souls. Every man who wore it became ennobled in the
eyes of every woman. These boys in gray were strangers to none. Their
uniform was a passport to every heart and every home. Broad Street was
thronged with them all day long.

Officers of all grades rode hither and thither, or congregated on the
steps of the hotels. Squads of soldiers promenaded, gayly chatting
with acquaintances whom they chanced to meet. Occasionally the sound
of drum and fife or the fuller music of a brass band would herald the
appearance of a company or regiment, perhaps just arrived from some
distant State, eager to reach the front. On more retired streets, at
their homes, humble or luxurious, sweet young girls welcomed with
kindly words and sunny smiles officers and private soldiers, extending
equal courtesy to both. The elegant mansions on Clay Street and
elsewhere were never without soldier guests. Impromptu meals were
served whenever needed. In elegant dining-rooms stately servants
supplied the wants of soldiers. No one asked who they were, whence
they came. They were Confederate soldiers--that was quite enough.

In the cool drawing-rooms pleasant chat beguiled the summer hours,
sweet songs floated out upon the air, or the more stirring notes of
"Dixie" or "The Bonnie Blue Flag," played with a spirit and vim which