"Good Gawd!" said Charity. "I nuvver thought he'd s'render the chany cups!"
"Not one is to be broken," I said, sternly. "If you break one, tell me at once and bring me the pieces, so I can send to Richmond and replace it."
I saw but little of my kind host. He lived at the post-office, remaining late every night to open the mail and have it ready for an early morning delivery to the camp, and returning home at twelve o'clock to sleep. Every night thereafter he found a bright fire, a clean-swept hearth, and on plates before the fire, biscuits, sausage or broiled ham, and a little pot of coffee. A table—with a lamp and the latest papers—was drawn up beside his arm-chair.
A few months after I left his house for Petersburg I received the following letter from him:—
"Respected Friend: I have now married. I couldn't stand it.
"Thy friend,
"I. P."
Since then I have always counselled, as cure for an incorrigible bachelor, simply to take care of him beautifully for three months and then—leave him!
HON. ROGER A. PRYOR.
From a photograph, about 1870.