about to
go far from any base of supplies. They all rallied round me with tokens of
love and consideration, and sewed, shopped, mended, and packed, as if
sewing soldier clothes. They decked the whole house and the church with
flowers. Music breathed, wine sparkled, friends came and went. It seemed a
dream, and comes up now and again out of the afternoon sunshine where I
sit on deck. The steamboat slowly plows its way through lumps of floating
ice,--a novel sight to me,--and I look forward wondering whether the new
people I shall meet will be as fierce about the war as those in New
Orleans. That past is to be all forgiven and forgotten; I understood thus
the kindly acts that sought to brighten the threshold of a new life.

_Feb. 15, 1862. (Village of X.)_--We reached Arkansas Landing at
nightfall. Mr. Y., the planter who owns the landing, took us right up to
his residence. He ushered me into a large room where a couple of candles
gave a dim light, and close to them, and sewing as if on a race with time,
sat Mrs. Y. and a little negro girl, who was so black and sat so stiff and
straight she looked like an ebony image. This was a large plantation; the
Y.'s knew H. very well, and were very kind and cordial in their welcome
and congratulations. Mrs. Y. apologized for continuing her work; the war
had pushed them this year in getting the negroes clothed, and she had to
sew by dim candles, as they could obtain no more oil. She asked if there
were any new fashions in New Orleans.

Next morning we drove over to our home in this village. It is the
county-seat, and was, till now, a good place for the practice of H.'s
profession. It lies on the edge of a lovely lake. The adjacent planters
count their slaves by the hundreds. Some of them live with a good deal of
magnificence, using service of plate, having smoking-rooms for the
gentlemen built off the house, and entertaining with great hospitality.
The Baptists, Episcopalians, and Methodists hold services on alternate
Sundays in the court-house. All the planters and many others, near the
lake shore, keep a boat at their landing, and a raft for crossing vehicles
and horses. It seemed very piquant at first, this taking our boat to go
visiting, and on moonlight nights it was charming. The woods around are
lovelier than those in Louisiana, though one misses the moaning of the
pines. There is fine fishing and hunting, but these cotton estates are not
so pleasant to visit as sugar plantati