ecame the rage; and here the rigidly virtuous and
the non-elect met on neutral ground. Among the amateurs of the city
were some who would have taken high rank in any musical circle, and
these gave a series of concerts for the benefit of distressed families
of the soldiers. The performers were the most fashionable of the
society; and, of course, the judgment of their friends--who crowded to
overflowing the churches where the concerts were held--was not to be
relied on. But critics from New Orleans and all parts of the South
declared the performances creditable to any city. After them the
audience broke up into little cliques and had the jolliest little
suppers the winter produced, with the inevitable "lancers" until the
smallest of small hours.

Then, there were charades and tableaux parties; while a few--more
ambitious of histrionic fame--got up private theatricals. Altogether,
in the gay set, the first winter of the war was one to be written in
red letters, for old Richmond rang with a chime of merry laughter that
for the time drowned the echo of the summer's fights and the groans of
the wayside hospitals.

One unique point in the society of Richmond struck me with a constantly
recurring surprise. I could not get accustomed to the undisputed
supremacy of the unmarried element that almost entirely composed it. It
constantly seemed to me that the young people had seized the society
while their elders' heads were turned, and had run away with it for a
brief space; and I always looked to see older people come in, with
reproof upon their brows, and take charge of it again. But I looked in
vain. One day at a dinner, I remarked this to my next neighbor;
suggesting that it was only because of the war. She was one of the most
charming women the society could boast--scarcely more than a bride,
just out of her teens, beautiful, accomplished and very gay.

"Strangers always remark this," she answered; "but it is not the result
of the war, or of the influx of strangers, as you suppose. Since I can
remember, only unmarried people have been allowed to go to parties by
the tyrants of seventeen who control them. We married folks do the
requisite amount of visiting and teaing-out; and sometimes even rise in
our wrath and come out to dinner. But as for a party--no! As soon as a
girl is married, she must make up her mind to pay her bridal visits,
dance a few weeks upon sufferance and then fold up her party dresses.
No matter how young,