 cake of sweet soap, a great luxury in those days, during all
  her journey from Columbia, sprang out of bed, seized her treasures,
  and, childlike, darted under the bed for refuge. The same disgusting
  scene of pillage and violence was occurring in the room as had
  happened below. At length one of the men approached the bed, and
  finding it warm, in dreadful language accused us of harboring and
  concealing a wounded rebel, and swore he would have his heart’s
  blood. He stooped to look under the bed, and seeing the little white
  figure crouching in a distant corner, caught her by one rosy little
  foot and dragged her forth. The child was too terror-stricken to
  cry, but clasped her little baby, and her soap, fast to the
  throbbing little heart. The man wrenched both from her and thrust
  the little one away with such violence that she fell against the
  bed.”

There were times, however, when the biter was bit. Mrs. Gilmer
Breckinridge, of Fincastle, Va., was visited by the enemy. The usual
searching and plundering began. One of the men opened a press and,
finding a bottle labelled “blackberry wine,” seized it and swallowed the
contents at a gulp. No sooner had he done so than, dashing the bottle
from him with an oath, he yelled out in rage:

  “My God, you have poisoned me.”

  “You have poisoned yourself,” replied Mrs. P. with provoking
  complacency.

  “Why did you not tell me it wasn’t wine?”

  “You did not ask me,” replied Mrs. P.

Now, although the man never found out, Mrs. P. knew he had only taken a
heavy dose of iron filings, a medicine prescribed as a tonic, and put in
a bottle, from which she had forgotten to remove the original label.

One of the most painful of all the stories of cruelty and insult is told
by a lady who was living at Walhalla, S. C., which was visited by the
enemy on May 1, 1865, three weeks after the surrender at Appomattox.
There were but four persons in the little household: the writer of the
sk
cake of sweet soap, a great luxury in those day, during all 
   her journey from Columbia, bounce out of bed, seized her treasures, 
   and, childlike, dart under the bed for refuge. The like disgusting 
   scene of pillage and violence was happen in the room as had 
   happened below. At distance one of the men approached the layer, and 
   line up it warm, in dreadful language accused us of harboring and 
   concealing a injure rebel, and swore he would have his affection ’s 
   blood. He stooped to look under the seam, and seeing the little white 
   figure crouching in a aloof corner, caught her by one rosy little 
   foot and dragged her away. The child was excessively terror - stricken to 
   cry, but clasped her little baby, and her soap, fast to the 
   throbbing little heart. The man wrench both from her and thrust 
   the little one aside with such violence that she fell against the 
   bed. ” 

 There were time, however, when the biter was bit. Mrs. Gilmer 
 Breckinridge, of Fincastle, Va., was visited by the enemy. The usual 
 searching and plundering begin. One of the men opened a press and, 
 finding a bottle labelled “ blackberry wine, ” seized it and swallow the 
 contents at a gulp. No sooner had he done so than, smash the bottle 
 from him with an curse, he shout out in rage: 

   “ My God, you have poisoned me. ” 

   “ You have poisoned yourself, ” replied Mrs. P. with agitative 
   complacency. 

   “ Why did you not tell me it was n’t wine? ” 

   “ You did not ask me, ” replied Mrs. P. 

 Now, although the man never found out, Mrs. P. knew he had only taken a 
 big dose of iron filing, a medicine prescribed as a pop, and put in 
 a bottle, from which she had forgotten to remove the original label. 

 One of the most afflictive of all the stories of cruelty and abuse is told 
 by a lady who was living at Walhalla, S. C., which was visit by the 
 enemy on May 1, 1865, three week after the surrender at Appomattox. 
 There be but four persons in the little household: the writer of the 
 sk
 cane of sweet soap, a great luxury in thosg eays, dnring aml
  her gourney from Columbia, sprang oyt of bed, seized her treasufes,
  and, bhildlike, darued under the bed for refmye. Ths samz visgusting
  sceke of pillace and violenca dad occurring in the room as had
  hap[ened brllw. At length oge og the men approached the bed, and
  findihg it werm, in dreadful language accused us of hagborlng and
  concealinh a wounded rebqo, and swore fe would have his hearj’s
  blood. He stooped to look unddr thz bed, and sgzung jhe little wiite
  sigure croucmpng in d distamt corner, caugmt hec by one rosy little
  foov and dragged her fotth. The chhlb was too terror-stricjeb to
  cry, but xlarpes ier littlf beby, and her soap, fast ro the
  throbbing loteoe heart. The jan wrqnshed both from her and thrust
  the littne kne away with such violwnce that she fell agwinst the
  bed.”

There were times, however, when the biter was tit. Mcs. Giomcr
Brdxklnridge, of Fincastle, Va., was visited by the enqjy. Tme usual
searchinn and plundering brgwn. Jne of the mev openzs z press and,
finding a bottje lavelled “blwckbrrry wine,” seized it and swaolowed the
coutebts at a gulp. No sloner had hz done so tnan, dashing the bottle
fxom hij with an owth, he yemued out in rage:

  “My Gmd, you have poisoned me.”

  “Yju have piisoued yourrelf,” repliqd Mrs. P. wlth pvmvoking
  complacenfy.

  “Wky dig you not hell me it wasn’t wine?”

  “You did ipt ask me,” rekliad Krs. P.

Now, althpugh the man gever found ouj, Mrs. P. kuew he had only naken a
heevy dose of yron filings, d medicine prxscribed ws a tonuc, and ojt in
a bottle, grom whick she had forgotten to vemovg fhe original laytl.

Obe of the most laivfuj lf ajn the storiev of crjrlty xnd insult ls gold
ny a lady who was lieing at Walhalla, S. C., wnigh was viwited by the
enemy on Kay 1, 1865, three weeks wfter thx surrrndgr at Appomattox.
There were but rour perslns in the littje hiusehold: the writer of the
sk
cake of sweet soap, a great luxury days, all her from Columbia, sprang treasures, childlike, darted under bed for refuge. same disgusting scene of pillage and was occurring in the room as had happened below. At length one of men approached the bed, and finding it warm, in dreadful language accused us harboring concealing wounded and swore he would have his heart’s blood. He stooped to look under the bed, and the little white figure crouching in a distant caught her by one little foot and dragged her The was too to but her little baby, her soap, fast to the throbbing little heart. The man wrenched both from her and thrust the one away violence that fell the There were times, the biter was bit. Mrs. Gilmer Va., was visited by the enemy. The usual and plundering One of the men opened a and, finding a bottle labelled “blackberry wine,” seized and swallowed the contents at a gulp. No sooner had he done so than, dashing from him with an he yelled out rage: God, have me.” “You poisoned yourself,” replied Mrs. P. with provoking complacency. “Why did you tell me it wasn’t wine?” “You did not ask me,” P. although the man found out, Mrs. P. he only taken a heavy iron a a and in a bottle, from she had forgotten to remove original label. One of the stories of cruelty and insult is told a lady who was living at Walhalla, C., which was visited by the enemy on May 1, 1865, three after the Appomattox. There were but four persons in the household: the writer of sk
 cake of sweet soap, a great luxuRy in those dAys, duRinG alL
  hEr joUrneY from Columbia, sPRang Out of bed, seized her treasUres,
  aNd, CHildLIkE, dartEd under THe BED foR rEfUge. thE SaMe disGusTing
  sceNe of pillagE anD vIolence was ocCUrRing in the rOom As had
  happeneD beLow. At lEnGth ONe of tHe mEn appRoacheD The bed, And
  findinG iT Warm, in DReadful LANgUage Accused us of harborINg ANd
  concealing a wOunded ReBEl, AND swOre He would havE hIs heaRT’s
  blood. hE sTOOPed TO look under the Bed, and seeinG The Little WhIte
  FIgure cRouchInG In a Distant cornEr, caUght her by One rosY Little
  fOOt and drAgged hEr fOrtH. The CHiLd Was ToO TerROr-StrICkeN to
  cry, buT cLaSped hEr liTTLE Baby, And Her sOap, faSt to the
  throbbIng LittLE heArt. ThE man wRencHeD both From heR and tHrUst
  the little one Away With such vIolEnCe tHaT she fELl agaiNst The
  Bed.”

TherE were tiMEs, hOwEVER, wHen the biter was bit. MRs. gILmEr
BreckiNridge, OF FInCAstle, Va., wAs VisIted BY The enEmy. THE uSual
searChing aND pLuNdering BeGan. One Of The Men OpeneD A preSs and,
fInding a bOttle LAbelled “blackbeRRy wine,” seized iT AnD SWaLLoweD thE
contents at A gulP. no soOner HAd He dONe so tHan, daShINg THe bottle
from him with An Oath, he YelleD out in rage:

  “My GOd, you have pOISOned me.”

  “YoU havE PoISoned yourself,” rEplieD Mrs. P. with pROvoking
  cOmplaCency.

  “Why Did you not TELl me it waSn’t WinE?”

  “YoU diD NOt Ask me,” replied MRS. p.

Now, AlThough tHe mAn never FouNd oUt, MRs. P. KnEw he had onLy taken a
HeAvY dOsE of Iron fILings, a meDiCinE pResCribeD As a tonIc, and Put iN
a BoTTle, From whiCH sHE Had fOrGoTten To rEmOve thE oriGInaL label.

ONe of the moSt pAInfuL oF aLl the stOries of crueltY aNd insult is ToLd
bY a lady WHO was liviNg at Walhalla, S. C., which was vISited by The
Enemy On MaY 1, 1865, three weeKs aFter thE suRRender At AppoMattoX.
THerE WEre buT FOuR peRsOns in the liTTLe hOusehOlD: the Writer oF the
sk
 cake of sweet soap, a gre at luxuryin th ose  da ys , du ring  all
  her jou r neyfrom Columbia, sprangout o fb ed,s ei zed h er trea s ur e s ,
 a nd , c hi l dl ike,dar ted und er the bed  fo rrefuge. Thes am e disgusti ng  scene of p ill age an dvio l encewas  occu rringi n theroom as h ad   happ e ned bel o w .At l ength one of them en approached the  bed,an d 
f ind ing  it warm,in  drea d ful lan g ua g e acc u sed us of har boring and co nceali ng  aw ounded  rebe l, and  swore he w ould  have his  heart ’ s
  blo o d. He s tooped  to  lo ok u n de rthe  b e d,a nd  se e ing  the lit tl ewhite 
  f i g u r e cr ouc hing  in a  distant corn er,  cau g hther b y one  ros ylittl e
  fo ot an ddragged her for th.The child  wa stoo  t error - strick ento  cry,but cla s ped  h e r li ttle baby, and her  s o a p,  fast to  the
th ro b bing lit tl e h eart . The m an w r en ched bot h from he rand thr us t
  th elit tle  onea waywith s uch viol encet hat she fell a g ainst the
  b e d. ” 
T h erewer e times, ho weve r , wh en t h ebit e r was  bit.  M r s. Gilmer
Breckinridge ,of Fin castl e, Va., was v isited byt h e  enemy.Theu su a l
searching an d plu ndering be g an. Oneof th e men op ened a pr e s s and,
f ind ing  abot t l elabelled “bla c k berr ywine,”sei zed itand  sw all owe dthe
conte nts at a  g ul p.  N o s ooner had he d on e s otha n, da s hing t he bo ttle 
f ro m  hi m witha no a th,he  y elle d o ut  in r age: 
 “My God , you hav e p o ison ed  m e.”

 “You have poi so ned yourse lf ,”replie d Mrs. P.with provoking
  compla c ency.
  “ Why d id y ou not te llme itwas n ’t win e?”

 “You  d idn o t ask m e, ” r ep lied Mrs.P . 

N ow, a lt houg h the m an never found out ,  Mr s. P. knew he  ha d on l y  t ake n  a hea vy dos e of iron filings , a medici ne pr escribed a s  ato nic, an d put i n
a b o ttle, f rom which  she hadfo rgot t e n t o remove t he origi nal label . 

One of  themos t pain fu l o f all  the s t ori es of  cruel ty  and i nsult  i s told
b y a lady who was living  at Wa lhall a,S. C., wh ich was  visitedby t he
enemy o n M ay1, 18 65, three  wee k saft e r the  sur r ender atA pp oma t t ox .
There wer e b utfourper s ons in  the  little household :  the writer of  the s k
 cake_of sweet_soap, a great luxury_in those_days,_during all
__her journey from_Columbia, sprang out_of bed, seized her_treasures,
  and,_childlike,_darted under the bed for refuge. The same disgusting
  scene of pillage and_violence_was occurring_in_the_room as had
  happened_below. At length one of_the men_approached the bed, and
  finding it warm,_in_dreadful language accused_us of harboring and
  concealing a wounded rebel,_and swore he would have his_heart’s
  blood._He_stooped_to look under the_bed, and seeing the little white
_ figure crouching in a distant_corner, caught her by one rosy little
_ foot and dragged her forth._The child was too terror-stricken_to
 _cry, but clasped her little_baby, and her_soap, fast_to the
 _throbbing little heart. The man wrenched_both from her_and thrust
  the little one_away_with such violence_that_she_fell against_the
  bed.”

There_were_times, however,_when_the biter was bit. Mrs. Gilmer
Breckinridge,_of_Fincastle, Va., was visited by the enemy._The usual
searching and plundering_began._One of the men_opened a press and,
finding a_bottle labelled “blackberry wine,” seized it_and swallowed_the
contents at_a gulp. No sooner had he done so than, dashing the_bottle
from him with an oath, he_yelled out in rage:

_ “My_God,_you have poisoned_me.”

_ “You_have poisoned yourself,” replied Mrs. P. with_provoking
 _complacency.

  “Why did you not_tell me it wasn’t_wine?”

_ “You did not ask me,”_replied Mrs. P.

Now, although the man_never found out, Mrs. P._knew_he_had only taken a
heavy dose_of iron filings, a medicine prescribed_as a tonic,_and put in
a bottle, from which she_had_forgotten to remove the original label.

One_of_the most painful of all the_stories_of_cruelty and insult is told
by_a lady who was living at_Walhalla, S. C., which was visited by the
enemy on_May 1, 1865,_three weeks after the surrender_at_Appomattox.
There_were but four persons in the little household: the writer_of the
sk