It
is not fancy. December, 1864, saw that, and more, in Virginia.
II.
THE MEN WHO RUINED THE CONFEDERACY.
In the streets of Richmond, crowded with uniforms, in spite of the
patrols, marching to and fro, and examining "papers," I met a number of
old acquaintances, and saw numerous familiar faces.
The "Spottswood" was the resort of the _militaires_, and the moneyed
people. Here, captains and colonels were elbowed by messieurs the
blockade-runners, and mysterious government employees--employed, as I
said on a former occasion, in heaven knows what. The officer stalked by
in his braid. The "Trochilus" passed, smiling, in shiny broadcloth.
Listen! yonder is the newsboy, shouting, "The _Examiner_!"--that is to
say, the accurate photograph of this shifting chaos, where nothing
seems stationary long enough to have its picture taken.
Among the first to squeeze my hand, with winning smiles and cordial
welcome, was my friend Mr. Blocque. He was clad more richly than
before; smiled more sweetly than ever; seemed more prosperous, better
satisfied, firmer in his conviction than ever that the President and
the administration had never committed a fault--that the world of
December, 1864, was the best of all possible worlds.
"My dear colonel!" exclaimed Mr. Pangloss-Trochilus, _alias_ Mr.
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