From Flag to Flag: A Woman's Adventures and Experiences in the South During the War, in Mexico, and in Cuba

A spacious mansion, with deep verandas supported by fluted columns, so closely following the architectural features of the historic Lee homestead on the Potomac as to give the name of “Arlington” to the plantation, was the home of my early married life.

The house faced a broad lawn, dotted here and there with live-oak and pecan trees. An avenue, over which the “pride-of-China” trees cast their shade, and beside which the Cherokee rose grew with great luxuriance, led to the river-bank, and commanded a magnificent view of the Mississippi for many miles above and below.

To this house, with all its attractive appointments, I came a bride, and from this home I took a hurried departure a decade later. Time has not dimmed the memory of those years; on the contrary, it has added to their radiant brightness.

Turning back a quarter of a century, I see a picture of peace, happiness, and the loveliest surroundings. In those spring days at Arlington the air was so pure and fragrant that its inhalation was a positive luxury. It was delightful to wander over the lawn, with its fresh carpet of green, and note the wonderful growth of vegetation on every side. The roses that arched the gateways, the honeysuckles and jasmines that climbed in profusion over the trellises, the delicate-foliaged crape myrtle with its wealth of fairy pink blossoms, all contributed perfume to the breeze.

Those grand autumnal days, when smoke rolled from the tall chimney of the sugar-house, and the air was redolent with the aroma of boiling cane-juice; when the fields were dotted with groups of busy and contented slaves, and their cabins resounded with the merry voices of playing children; when magnolia and oak trees were musical with the mocking-birds, whose throats poured forth melodies unknown to any other of the feathered tribe, and nimble squirrels gathered their winter stores in the pecan-groves—oh, those grand autumnal days!

Those Christmas-days, when the house was filled with gay throngs of city guests, and the broad halls resounded with merry laugh and romp; when the “plantation band,” with the inspiring airs of “Monie Musk” and “Come, haste to the Wedding,” put wings to the giddy feet—how the happy moments fled! oh, the jolly days, when we danced the hours away!