is good and lovely in woman, she filled my ideal;
but pleasant associations are soon broken in war, and I was ordered to
report to my regiment. I had a supply of rations from home and Miss Jennie
made me some cakes of sorghum molasses, and we parted, hoping to meet
again soon and to correspond sure. My command moved ten miles to the right
on Hatches' Run for ten days; then back past Miss Jennie's home in the
night, and on into the battle in front of Petersburg on the 25th of March.
Here I threw up the "sponge" and went to Point Lookout and stayed there
until the 12th June; then came back by Richmond, and on home. We had no
mails for a year after the war, before I wrote Miss Jennie that I had got
through in good shape. Then she wrote me a nice letter, informing me that
she had married a young Confederate soldier--a Mr. Jones--and giving a
cordial invitation to visit them if I ever came to Petersburg. Well, as
time pulled on, I, too, was married in 1872, and was as happy as any one
could be. Forty years after parting with Miss Jennie I concluded to visit
Petersburg and the old battlefields. I was now a grandpap and a widower,
and I thought of my old friend, Mrs. Jones, and I wondered what had
become of them. If she and her husband were living, I would certainly give
them a call. Then, if I should find her a widow, there might be a little
bit of new romance started in the Old Dominion. I could think of her only
as the lovely girl of nineteen; but I had to reflect that she, too, might
now be a withered grandmother. I went on the Seaboard Road and landed
right in our old wagon yard. The beautiful oak grove was all gone, streets
and hundreds of houses covered our old stamping ground. I soon located the
old canal, like unto a sunken road, and could recognize only the old brick
mill house at the lower end of the canal basin or boat landing. Seeing
some old veterans around I inquired if they knew Mrs. Dean, and they said
they did, and Jennie too. That she married Ned Jones; that Jones had been
dead a couple of years. Then I enquired, "How is Mrs. Jones?" "She is an
invalid--not able to get out. A son and a daughter live with her." "What
sort of a man was Jones?" "He was a good man, a local preacher. She lives
second block--third house on the right." Starting out to see my poor
invalid lady friend, I stepped in where beer was sold and got a glass. I
then interrogated the proprietor, Mr. Quarles. He said he was raised
there, was abo