“I don’t know much about war, but if we are always whipping the Yankees, how is it they keep coming down into our country after every battle?”

The major grew red in the face, and told the farmer that any man who asked such an absurd question was an Abolitionist, and deserved hanging to the nearest tree.  The farmer was silenced, but not satisfied.

I had a fine illustration of the infatuation of the Rebel sympathizers, a few days after Memphis was captured.  One evening, while making a visit at the house of an acquaintance, the hostess introduced me to a young lady of the strongest secession proclivities.  Of course, I endeavored to avoid the topics on which we were certain to differ, but my new acquaintance was determined to provoke a discussion.  With a few preliminaries, she throw out the question: 

“Now, don’t you think the Southern soldiers have shown themselves the bravest people that ever lived, while the Yankees have proved the greatest cowards?”

“I can hardly agree with you,” I replied.  “Your people have certainly established a reputation on the score of bravery, but we can claim quite as much.”

“But we have whipped you in every battle.  We whipped you at Manassas and Ball’s Bluff, and we whipped General Grant at Belmont.”

“That is very true; but how was it at Shiloh?”

“At Shiloh we whipped you; we drove you to your gun-boats, which was all we wanted to do.”

“Ah, I beg your pardon; but what is your impression of Fort Donelson?”

“Fort Donelson!”—­and my lady’s cheek flushed with either pride or indignation—­“Fort Donelson was an unquestioned victory for the South.  We stopped your army—­all we wanted to; and then General Forrest, General Floyd, and all the troops we wished to bring off, came away.  We only left General Buckner and three thousand men for you to capture.”

“It seems, then, we labored under a delusion at the North.  We thought we had something to rejoice over when Fort Donelson fell.  But, pray, what do you consider the capture of Island Number Ten and the naval battle here?”

“At Island Ten we defeated you” (how this was done she did not say), “and we were victorious here.  You wanted to capture all our boats; but you only got four of them, and those were damaged.”

“In your view of the case,” I replied, “I admit the South to have been always victorious.  Without wishing to be considered disloyal to the Nation, I can heartily wish you many similar victories.”

In the tour which Dickens records, Mark Tapley did not visit the Southern country, but the salient points of his character are possessed by the sons of the cavaliers.  “Jolly” under the greatest misfortunes, and extracting comfort and happiness from all calamities, your true Rebel could never know adversity.  The fire which consumes his dwelling is a personal boon, as he can readily explain.  So is a devastating flood, or a widespread pestilence.  The events which narrow-minded mudsills are apt to look upon as calamitous, are only “blessings in disguise” to every supporter and friend of the late “Confederacy.”