The attitude of the modern South (the “New South” which, by the way, one Southerner described to me as meaning “northern capital and smoke”) toward its own “unreconstructed” citizens, for all its sympathy and tenderness, is not without a glint of gentle humor.  More than once, when my companion and I were received in southern homes with a cordiality that precluded any thought of sectional feeling, we were nevertheless warned by members of the younger generation—­and their eyes would twinkle as they said it—­to “look out for mother; she’s unreconstructed.”  And you may be sure that when we were so warned we did “look out.”  It was well to do so!  For though the mother might be a frail old lady, past seventy, with the face of an angel and the normal demeanor of a saint, we could see her bridle, as we were presented to her, over the thought there here were two Yankees in her home—­Yankees!—­we could see the light come flashing up into her eyes as they encountered ours, and could feel beneath the veil of her austere civility the dagger points of an eternal enmity.  By dint of self-control on her part, and the utmost effort upon ours to be tactful, the presentation ceremony was got over with, and after some formal speeches, resembling those which, one fancies, may be exchanged by opposing generals under a flag of truce, we would be rescued from her, removed from the room, before her forbearance should be strained, by our presence, to the point of breaking.  A baleful look would follow us as we withdrew, and we would retire with a better understanding of the flaming spirit which, through that long, bloody conflict against overwhelming odds in wealth, supplies, and men, sustained the South, and which at last enabled it to accept defeat as nobly as it had accepted earlier victories....  How one loves a gentle old lady who can hate like that!

In this chapter, when it appeared originally, in “Collier’s Weekly,” I made the statement that I had seldom spent an hour in conversation with a Southerner without hearing some mention of the Civil War, and that I had heard other Northerners remark upon this matter, and express surprise at the tenacity with which the war holds its place in the foreground of the southern mind.

This, like many another of my southern observations, brought me letters from readers of “Collier’s,” residing in the South.  A great number of the letters thus elicited, as well as comments made upon these chapters by the southern press, have been of no small interest to me.  On at least one subject (the question discussed in the next chapter, as to whether the expression “you-all” is ever used in the singular) my correspondents have convinced me that my earlier statement was an error, while on other subjects they have modified my views, and on still others made my convictions more profound.  Where it has been possible, and where it has seemed, for one reason or another, to be worth while, I have endeavored, while revising the story of my southern wanderings for this book, to make note of the other fellow’s point of view, especially in cases where he disagrees with me.