“En route” to Rome I met with my usual good fortune in finding another friend in a lady resident of the country, who fondly urged me to leave the hotel and make my home with her, where she lavished upon me every luxury and kindness.  Her husband was the only man in that region of country who voted for Abraham Lincoln; and when General Sherman made his “March to the Sea,” she concealed none of her stores or treasures, but went to him and asked protection for her property and home, when a guard was immediately furnished her by the commander.

She afterward married an officer of this guard, in consequence of which she was disowned by her family and associates, but in the noble and sterling qualities of her husband found ample compensation as well as a subsequent reconciliation with friends.

CHAPTER XXI.

        “’Tis a little thing
    To give a cup of water; yet its draught
    Of cool refreshment, drained by fervid lips,
    May give a shock of pleasure to the frame
    More exquisite than when nectarian juice
    Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.”

In order to reach Montgomery I took passage in one of the high-pressure steamers of the Alabama river, and during the two days and nights of the trip I was surrounded by a throng of sympathizing, interested passengers, whose tender tones and gentle touch was as a cool, refreshing draught to parched lips, a sweet morsel to the tongue, for human hearts ever hunger and thirst for affection.  How utterly unendurable would be this life, with its desert wastes and hot siroccos, but for the sweet, verdant spots dotting the sandy sea, whence spring the “fountains of perpetual peace” and issue the healing waters.

These loving ones surrounded me as I sat busily occupied with my bead work, and not only delighted and entertained with their curious questions and familiar chat, but freely bought my books and fifty dollars worth of baskets, while they would doubtless have doubled the amount had not this exhausted my little store.

As we steamed in sight of Montgomery a gentleman came into the cabin and requested me to make for him eight of the handsomest bead baskets before we landed; and, seeing an amused and incredulous smile upon my face, he said:  “You work so dexterously and so rapidly that I did not realize that my demand was unreasonable.”  Explaining to him that it would require eight hours of the closest application to accomplish that amount of work, he apologized and left me.  Nor did this specimen of the “genus homo” evince any unusual ignorance of woman’s work, whose endless routine and diversified drudgery ofttimes require the patience of a Job and the wisdom of a Solomon.  In the labyrinth of domestic entanglement more is needed than the silken clue of Ariadne, and the vexed question of domestic economy requires the unerring skill of the diplomatist, the subtle tact of the politician, and the sure strength of the statesman.  The “Poet of Poets” has shown his appreciation of the character and life of woman in the following lines: