war.
Immediately on its close, a rank crop of "southern loyalists" had
sprung up in many quarters; basking in the rays of the Freedmen's
Bureau and plentifully manured with promises and brotherly love by the
open-mouthed and close-fisted philanthropy of New England. But like all
dunghill products, the life of these was ephemeral. Its root struck no
deeper than the refuse the war had left; and during its continuance the
genus was so little known that a Carlyle, or a Brownlow, was looked
upon with the same curiosity and disgust as a very rare, but a very
filthy, exotic.

With the exceptions of portions of Kentucky and Tennessee, no parts of
the South were untrue to the government they had accepted.

Florida was called "loyal" and General Finnegan proved with what truth.
"Loyal" Missouri has written her record in the blood of Price's ragged
heroes. Louisiana, crushed by the iron heel of military power, spoiled
of her household gods and insulted in her women's name, still bowed not
her proud head to the flag that had thus become hostile.

And the Valley of Virginia! Ploughed by the tramp of invading
squadrons--her fair fields laid waste and the sanctity of her every
household invaded--alternately the battle-ground of friend and
foe--where was her "loyalty?"

Pinched for her daily food, subsidized to-day by the enemy and freely
giving to-morrow to their own people--with farming utensils destroyed
and barns bursting with grain burned in wanton deviltry--the people of
the Valley still held to the allegiance to the flag they loved; and the
last note of the southern bugle found as ready echo in their hearts as
in the first days of the invasion--

"Their foes had found enchanted ground--
But not a knight asleep!"

In possibly one or two instances, the official reports of invading
generals may have been in some slight degree erroneous; newspaper
correspondents are not in every instance absolutely infallible; and
perhaps it was more grateful to the tender sensibilities of the war
party at the North to feel that there were hearts of brothers beating
for them in the glare of burning rooftrees, or swelling with still more
loyal fervor to the cry of the insulted wife!

But at this day--when the clap-trap of war has died away with the roll
of its drums; when reason may in some sort take the place of partisan
rage--not one honest and informed thinker in the North believes that
"loyal" feeling ever had deep root anywher