As I pressed the hand of my host, and looked around the poor apartment,
I could not refrain from a sentiment of profound bitterness. Two days
before I had dined at the table of a peddling blockade-runner, who ate
canvass-backs, drank champagne, wore "fine linen," and, dodging the
conscript officers, revelled in luxury and plenty. And now here before
me was a gentleman of ancient lineage, whose ancestors had been famous,
who had himself played a great part in the history of the
commonwealth,--and this gentleman was poor, lived in lodgings, had
scarce a penny; he had been wealthy, and was still the owner of great
possessions; but the bare land was all that was left him for support.
He had been surrounded with luxury, but had sacrificed all to the
cause. He had had two gallant sons, but they had fallen at the first
Manassas--their crossed swords were above his poor bare mantel-piece.
From the splendid table of the sneaking blockade-runner, I had come to
the poverty-stricken apartment of this great statesman and high-bred
gentleman. "Oh, Juvenal!" I muttered, "it is your satires, not the
bucolics of Virgil, that suit this epoch!"
The old statesman pointed, with all the grace of a nobleman, to a bare
rocking-chair, and received my congratulations upon his speech with
modest simplicity.
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