To terminate this brief sketch of General Lee, personally, in the winter of 1864.  He looked much older than at the beginning of the war, but by no means less hardy or robust.  On the contrary, the arduous campaigns through which he had passed seemed to have hardened him—­developing to the highest degree the native strength of his physical organization.  His cheeks were ruddy, and his eye had that clear light which indicates the presence of the calm, self-poised will.  But his hair had grown gray, like his beard and mustache, which were worn short and well-trimmed.  His dress, as always, was a plain and serviceable gray uniform, with no indications of rank save the stars on the collar.  Cavalry-boots reached nearly to his knees, and he seldom wore any weapon.  A broad-brimmed gray-felt hat rested low upon the forehead; and the movements of this soldierly figure were as firm, measured, and imposing, as ever.  It was impossible to discern in General Lee any evidences of impaired strength, or any trace of the wearing hardships through which he had passed.  He seemed made of iron, and would remain in his saddle all day, and then at his desk half the night, without apparently feeling any fatigue.  He was still almost an anchorite in his personal habits, and lived so poorly that it is said he was compelled to borrow a small piece of meat when unexpected visitors dined with him.

Such, in brief outline, was the individual upon whose shoulders, in the last months of 1864 and the early part of 1865, rested the Southern Confederacy.

XII.

THE SITUATION AT THE BEGINNING OF 1865.

In approaching the narrative of the last tragic scenes of the Confederate struggle, the writer of these pages experiences emotions of sadness which will probably be shared by not a few even of those readers whose sympathies, from the nature of things, were on the side of the North.  To doubt this would be painful, and would indicate a contempt for human nature.  Not only in the eyes of his friends and followers, but even in the eyes of his bitterest enemies, Lee must surely have appeared great and noble.  Right or wrong in the struggle, he believed that he was performing his duty; and the brave army at his back, which had fought so heroically, were inspired by the same sentiment, and risked all on the issue.

This great soldier was now about to suffer the cruellest pang which the spite of Fate can inflict, and his army to be disbanded, to return in poverty and defeat to their homes.  That spectacle was surely tragic, and appealed to the hardest heart; and if any rejoiced in such misery he must have been unsusceptible of the sentiment of admiration for heroism in misfortune.