ed
from me that I could not see her face. But her solitude did not long
continue; there came into view a gentleman of would-be venerable
appearance, who approached her with a walk carefully constructed for
public admiration, and who, upon reaching her, bent over with the same
sort of footlight elaboration and gave her a paternal kiss. I did not
need to hear her call him father; he was so obviously General Rieppe,
the prudent hero of Chattanooga, that words would have been perfectly
superfluous in his identification.

I was destined upon another day to hear the tones of his voice, and
thereupon may as well state now that they belonged altogether with the
rest of him. There is a familiar type of Northern fraud, and a Southern
type, equally familiar, but totally different in appearance. The
Northern type has the straight, flat, earnest hair, the shaven upper
lip, the chin-beard, and the benevolent religious expression. He will be
the president of several charities, and the head of one great business.
He plays no cards, drinks no wine, and warns young men to beware of
temptation. He is as genial as a hair-sofa; and he is seldom found out
by the public unless some financial crash in general affairs uncovers
his cheating, which lies most often beyond the law's reach; and because
he cannot be put in jail, he quite honestly believes heaven is his
destination. We see less of him since we have ceased to be a religious
country, religion no longer being an essential disguise for him. The
Southern type, with his unction and his juleps, is better company,
unless he is the hero of too many of his own anecdotes. He is commonly
the possessor of a poetic gaze, a mane of silvery hair, and a noble
neck. As war days and cotton-factor days recede into a past more and
more filmed over with romance, he too grows rare among us, and I
regret it, for he was in truth a picturesque figure. General Rieppe was
perfect.

At first I was sorry that the distance they were from me rendered
hearing what they were saying impossible; very soon, however, the frame
of my open window provided me with a living picture which would have
been actually spoiled had the human voice disturbed its eloquent
pantomime.

General Rieppe's daughter responded to her father's caress but
languidly, turning to him her face, with its luminous, stationary
beauty. He pointed to the house, and then waved his hand toward the
bench where she sat; and she, in response to this, nodd