Such was Richmond at the end of summer in 1864. Society was approaching
one of those epochs, when all things appear unreal, monstrous, gliding
toward some great catastrophe. All rascaldom was rampant. The
night-birds had come forth. Vice stalked, and flaunted its feathers in
the light of day. Chaos seemed coming, and with it all the powers of
darkness.
That spectacle was singular to a soldier, bred in camps, and
habituated, now, for some years, to the breezy airs of "the field." I
looked on with astonishment. The whole drama seemed unreal--the
characters mere players. Who was A, and B, and what did C do for a
living? You knew not, but they bowed, and smiled, and were charming.
They grasped your hand, offered you cigars, invited you to supper--they
wanted nothing. And they found no difficulty in procuring guests. I was
no better than the rest, reader--there is an honest confession--and,
looking back now, I can see that I knew, and dined or supped with some
queer characters in those days.
Shall I give you a brief sketch of one of these worthies and his
surroundings? It will afford some idea of the strange contrasts then
presented in the "doomed" and starving city.
III.
I DINE WITH MR. BLOCQUE.
He was a prominent personage at that time--my friend (in a
parliamentary sense at least) Mr.
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