The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1891-12-19

H""s qui9e inc most expensive dim
nor | have ever eaten. Altogether, 1t
cost us exactly five hundred dollars
Confederate money, It's true, and fast
becoming worthlcss-many regrets and
not q few tears.
The last year Of tho war had come.
and as fast us the value OF our money
went down tho price OF things went up.
a single pound OF coffee meant twenty
five dollars; a bectsteal, fifteen, 4 tur-
Key fifty, and q barrel OF flour two hun
dred; 10 say. nothing OF such small
things rs needles and pins coming to
over five dollara y paper; so, with thnec
prices rs u gauge, it IS quite easy to
Imagine how the costo 4 simple little
Christmas m~errvinak:ag could mount
UP into the hundreds. Tho rawost OF
damp winscrs was upon us, and We, 4
~sllveriAs little family OF Charles
ton refugees, were pennilcss
and alone III n strange city. Some
months before my father had written
from Morris Island, THE Confcdcracy
is OIL its last legs and Charleston wifi
probably DO burned" We were order
ed straightway 10 Columbia. Thithcr,
two days later. my mother fled, accom-
panied only by her little brood OF three,
II faithful servant and her four-ycar.
old child, and there, for near II winter
Of sad weeks, we led a doubtful and
hand-to-mouth existence.
To begin with, it seemed to our home
sicl; hearts that these inland people
we're made Of different clay from rs
coast-bred folk. Food was scarce and
times grew harder every day. First, the
small sum OF money my mother had
scraped together before lcavin. Charles.
ton was spent. Then, piece by piece,
IL small stock OF silver was dug up out
OF the cellar, where, in anticipation OF
yankees" ithadbeen religiously buried,
sold, and the proceeds eaten up. At
last cano the saddest period of all
when . goodly stock OF antiquated fin
cry was turned into food, when a vel
vet cloak meant so many bits OF beef
and quarts OF rice, and 4 silk dress Just
such n number OF big wood fires; when
we existed entirely of the remains OF 4
oncesplendid European trousseau that
had served my mother some ten yeara
before. These things were bought by
well-to-do neishbors, fashion-loving
ladies that the continued war and in
terrupted transportation had reduced
to calico lrocks andvcnerable headgear;
and right cleverly did they remodel
those ancient garments to suit the
hideous styles Of the day.
But, alas, there came a daywhen every
thing was gone-notso much as q rag OF
millinery or salt spoon left sell.
No, not quite everything, for in dingy
oldtrunk in my mothers closet,a price
less treasure lay-a wonderful thing
with q fabulous ,train,ta point-lace gimp
and huge angel sleeves, smelling much
OF lavender and a little of must, and all
ticketed and labelled: "For Kit on her
wedding day" And !, Miss Catherine
Calhoun. Prescott (alias Exit" and aged
nincl, felt vastly important at the sight
OF that label.
Another emotion stirred my being
whenI touched those misunderstanding
folds OF satin-one OF reverence. that at
the sight Of q knot OF dead
orange blossoms turned into awe;
for, it seemed to me,Sit was indeed 4
holy relic, something to be put aside
and worshipped in our family for gen.
erations to come. But that bitter
Christmas eve OF ga there was no
thought OF this treasure in my mind.
My little brain was busy with more
prosaic things, and first and foremost
in my revcries came tho recollection of
n once coniiding but now stony-hearted
green grocer who had shut down on us
with IN iron hand. True, we still had n
decent roof over our heads and enough
hickory logs to keep us warm, but these
were not eatable things, and our larder
was as empty as the old lady's in the
nursery rhyme. There was not a scrap
oil credit to be had. Those wise butch
ers and bakers had learned a thing or
two. They were not for trusting hun
cry refugees for the balance Of their
days! Oh, no, notthey! So thus it was
that or that ever-memorable night the
outlook for the morrow's dinner was
black indeed. Our case was ono
that required desperate measures, and
as soon as she saw us safely in bed, for
ut least Tie twentieth time that day my
mother summoned our servant Bina
lchristened Sahina, and c supposed
slave, but in reality our sovereign mis-
tress and governor to, q: council OF war.
twas q long interview that came to our
ears III fearful murmurings, causing my
two little brothers to stir nervously in
their trundlo bed at the side OF my four
poster.
Tom, tho elder, aged eight, and q
famous glutton, listened to it awhile,
then proposed a brilliant scheme for
our next days dinner. He thought it
might keep ma from crying. She
wouldn'tlook SO pale then and whisper
so much TO Bina. ''If," he went on,
folks would only low it, we might
stuff Pete (poor Bina;s ~pickaninny,
then in skirts and with.no ambition be-
yond ham-bag trousers and enough to
pnt) an NIT n annie in his month mn