e back to my
room, and have seen nothing of Christmas in Paris.

On January 1, 1867, he writes:

This is the first of the new year. How sad it opens upon
me! In a foreign land, with all that is dear to me on earth
beyond the ocean, either on the way to a distant home or at
its desolate fireside. Well, I shall not nurse such gloomy
ideas. Let us hope that the new year may be happier and
that we may grow better. God knows I cannot regret that
1866 is gone. I hope its calamities will not enter with us
into 1867. I had hoped to hear from New York of your safe
arrival on the other side of the ocean.

The loss of his daughter Sallie was a severe blow to General Toombs. But
two of his children lived to be grown. His eldest daughter Louise died
in 1855, shortly after her marriage to Mr. W. F. Alexander. General
Toombs had a son who died in early childhood of scarlet fever. This was
a great blow to him, for he always longed for a son to bear his name.
Away off in Paris his heart yearned for his four little grandchildren,
left motherless by this new affliction. He writes again from Paris:

I almost determined to take the steamer Saturday and run
the gauntlet to New York. I would have done so but for my
promise to you. I know everything looks worse and worse on
our side of the ocean, but when will it be any better? Is
this state of things to last forever? To me it is becoming
intolerable.... Kiss the dear little children for me. Bless
their hearts! How I long to see them and take them to my
arms. God bless you! Pray for me that I may be a better man
in the new year than in all the old ones before in my time.

Early in January General Toombs decided to sail for Cuba and thence to
New Orleans. If he found it unsafe to remain in the South he concluded
he could either go back to Cuba or extend his travels into Canada. He
had promised his wife he would remain abroad for the present. But he
writes:

The worst that can happen to me is a prison, and I don't
see much to choose between my present condition and any
decent fort. I feel so anxious about you and the children
that it makes me very wretched.

From Paris, January 16, 1867, he writes:

My preparations are all complete, and I leave to-morrow on
the _New World_ for Havana and New Orleans, _via_
Martinique. I am well; ex