Oh, there were great old times on the Appomattox in the olden days,
before its waves had turned battle-red and flashed that savage tint
along the river-bank for all coming time.

[Illustration: "AVENEL"
The home of the Burwells, where Dr. Bagby spent many happy days]

A part of the conversation shows us that this fishing expedition took
place in the autumn of 1859, not a year before Dr. Bagby was called to
the post of editor of the _Southern Literary Messenger_, taking the
place of the poet, John R. Thompson, who was sent to England to lead
the forlorn hope of a magazine to represent the Southern cause in
London. A banquet was given at Zetelle's restaurant as a farewell to
Mr. Thompson and welcome to Dr. Bagby.

The office of the _Messenger_ was in the Law Building, a four-storied
structure erected in 1846 on the southeast corner of Capitol Square,
fronting on Franklin Street. Here he was hard at work, making the
_Messenger_ worthy of its former editors, his predecessor, Mr.
Thompson, Mr. White, of early days, Edgar A. Poe, and a succession of
brilliant writers, only less widely known, when the guns before Sumter
tempted the new editor to the field, a position for which he was ill
fitted as to physical strength, whatever might be the force of his
patriotism. He was soon running risks of pneumonia from the effects of
over-drilling and the chilling breezes from Bull Run Mountain, and
making up his mind "not to desert, but to get killed at the first
opportunity," that being the most direct route he could think of to
the two prime essentials of life, a clean shirt and solitude. He
neither deserted nor was killed, but was detailed to write letters and
papers for one of the officers, and slept through the fight of the