Columbia, S C, July 6, 1864.—At the Prestons’ Mary was laughing at Mrs. Lyons’s complaint—the person from whom we rented rooms in Richmond. She spoke of Molly and Lawrence’s deceitfulness. They went about the house quiet as mice, while we were at home; or Lawrence sat at the door and sprang to his feet whenever we passed. But when we were out, they sang, laughed, shouted, and danced. If any of the Lyons family passed him, Lawrence kept his seat, with his hat on, too. Mrs. Chesnut had said: “Oh!” so meekly to the whole tirade, and added, “I will see about it.”
Colonel Urquhart and Edmund Rhett dined here; charming men both—no brag, no detraction. Talk is never pleasant where there is either. Our noble Georgian dined here. He says Hampton was the hero of the Yankee rout at Stony Creek.[1] He claims that citizens, militia, and lame soldiers kept the bridge at Staunton and gallantly repulsed Wilson’s raiders.
At Mrs. S.’s last night. She came up, saying, “In New Orleans four people never met together without dancing.” Edmund Rhett turned to me: “You shall be pressed into service.” “No, I belong to the reserve corps—too old to volunteer or to be drafted as a conscript.” But I had to go.
My partner in the dance showed his English descent; he took his pleasure sadly. “Oh, Mr. Rhett, at his pleasure, can be a most agreeable companion! ” said someone. “I never happened to meet him,” said I, “when he pleased to be otherwise.” With a hot, draggled, old alpaca dress, and those clod-hopping shoes, to tumble slowly and gracefully through the mazes of a July dance was too much for me. “What depresses you so?” he anxiously inquired. “Our carnival of death.” What a blunder to bring us all together here!—a reunion of consumptives to dance and sing until one can almost hear the death-rattle!
[1] The battle of Stony Creek in Virginia was fought on June 28-29, 1864.
