iless nature that a great poet did not
scruple to link his name with a deed which, had it actually occurred,
would have been one of almost unexampled cruelty. Such calumnies as
Whittier's "Barbara Frichtie" may possibly have found their source in
the impression made upon some of Jackson's acquaintances at
Lexington, who, out of all sympathy with his high ideal of life and
duty, regarded him as morose and morbid; and when in after years the
fierce and relentless pursuit of the Confederate general piled the
dead high upon the battle-field, this conception of his character was
readily accepted. As he rose to fame, men listened greedily to those
who could speak of him from personal knowledge; the anecdotes which
they related were quickly distorted; the slightest peculiarities of
walk, speech, or gesture were greatly exaggerated; and even
Virginians seemed to vie with one another in representing the humble
and kind-hearted soldier as the most bigoted of Christians and the
most pitiless of men.

But just as the majority of ridiculous stories which cluster round
his name rest on the very flimsiest foundation, so the popular
conception of his character during his life at Lexington was
absolutely erroneous. It was only within the portals of his home that
his real nature disclosed itself. The simple and pathetic pages in
which his widow has recorded the story of their married life unfold
an almost ideal picture of domestic happiness, unchequered by the
faintest glimpse of austerity or gloom. That quiet home was the abode
of much content; the sunshine of sweet temper flooded every nook and
corner; and although the pervading atmosphere was essentially
religious, mirth and laughter were familiar guests.

"Those who knew General Jackson only as they saw him in public would
have found it hard to believe that there could be such a
transformation as he exhibited in his domestic life. He luxuriated in
the freedom and liberty of his home, and his buoyancy and joyousness
often ran into a playfulness and abandon that would have been
incredible to those who saw him only when he put on his official
dignity."* (* Memoirs of Stonewall Jackson page 108.) It was seldom,
indeed, except under his own roof, or in the company of his
intimates, that his reserve was broken through; in society he was
always on his guard, fearful lest any chance word might be
misconstrued or give offence. It is no wonder, then, that Lexington
misjudged him. Nor were t