"Washington College, Virginia, September 25, 1869.
"F. Poole, Secretary Peabody Institute, Peabody, Massachusetts.
"Dear Sir: In compliance with your request, I send a photograph of myself, the last that has been taken, and shall fell honoured in its being placed among the 'friends' of Mr. Peabody, for, though they can be numbered by millions, yet all can appreciate the man who was illustrated his age by his munificent charities during his life, and by his wise provisions for promoting the happiness of his fellow-creatures.
"Very respectfully, your obedient servant, "R. E. Lee."
My father's family was now comfortably established in their new home, and had the usual number of friends visiting them this autumn. In due time Edward Childe, Blanche, and "Duckie," their little dog, arrived and remained for a week or two. The last-named member of the party was of great interest. He was very minute, very helpless, and received more attention than the average baby. He had crossed the Atlantic in fear and trembling, and did not apparently enjoy the new world. His utter helplessness and the great care taken of him by his mistress, his ill-health and the unutterable woe of his countenance greatly excited my father's pity. After he went away, he often spoke of him, and referred to him, I find, in one of his letters.
During this trip to America, Edward and his wife, carrying the wretched "Duckie" with them, paid their visit to the "White House."
This autumn the "little carriage" my father mentioned having purchased for my mother in Baltimore was put into use. He frequently drove out in it with my mother, his new daughter, and grandson. "Lucy Long," under his guidance, carefully carried them over the beautiful hills around Lexington. One afternoon, while paying a visit with his daughter, Tabb, to Colonel William Preston Johnston, who lived two miles down the river, in pulling up a steep ascent to the front door, "Lucy" fell, choked into unconsciousness by too tight a collar. My father jumped out, hastily got off the harness, and on perceiving the cause of the accident reproached himself vehemently for his carelessness and thoughtlessness. He was very much distressed at this accident, petted his mare, saying to her in soothing tones that he was ashamed of himself for having caused her all this pain after she had been so faithful to him.
His rides on Traveller in which he delighted so much were not so frequent now. He was not so strong as he had been through the spring and summer, and, indeed, during November he had a very severe attack of cold, from which he did not recover for several weeks. However, during the beautiful days of October he was often seen out in the afternoons on his old gray. His favourite route was the road leading to the Rockbridge Baths. A year previous to this time, he would sometimes go as far as the Baths and return in an afternoon, a trip of twenty miles. A part of this road led through a dense forest.
One afternoon, as he told the story himself, he met a plain old soldier in the midst of these woods, who, recognising the General, reined in his horse and said:
"General Lee, I am powerful glad to see you, and I feel like cheering you."
The General replied that this would not do, as they were all alone, only two of them, and there would be no object whatever in cheering.
But the old soldier insisted that he must, and, waving his hat about his head, cried out:
"Hurrah for General Lee!" and kept repeating it. As the General rode away he continued to hear the cheers until he was out of sight.
On another afternoon, as Professors White and Nelson, taking a horseback ride, approached the summit of a long hill, they heard behind them the sound of a horse's feet running rapidly. In a few moments General Lee appeared on Traveller at full speed. On joining his friends he reined up and said:
"I thought a little run would be good for Traveller."
He often gave his horse a "breather," as he called it. The animal was so strong and powerful that he chafed at restraint, and, unless ridden regularly and hard, had a very disagreeable, fretful trot.
After a good gallop up one of the long Rockbridge hills he would proceed at a quiet walk.
