His circumstances and surroundings were now changed--no longer the stars and epaulets adorned his manly form; but dressed in a simple suit of pure white linen, he looked a king, and adversity had wrought no change in his character, manner, or conversation. To reach our house he made a journey--on his old war horse, "Traveler"--forty miles across the mountains, describing which, on the night of his arrival, he said: "To-day an incident occurred which gratified me more than anything that has happened for a long time. As I was riding over the most desolate mountain region, where not even a cabin could be seen, I was surprised to find, on a sudden turn in the road, two little girls playing on a large rock. They were very poorly clad, and after looking a moment at me, began to run away. 'Children,' said I, 'don't run away. If you could know _who_ I am, you would know that I am the last man in the world for anybody to run from now.' "'But we do know you,' they replied. "'You never saw me before,' I said, 'for I never passed along here.' "'But we do know you,' they said, 'And we've got your picture up yonder in the house, and you are General Lee! And we ain't dressed clean enough to see you.' "With this they scampered off to a poor log hut on the mountain side." It was gratifying to him to find that even in this lonely mountain hut the children had been taught to know and revere him. He told us, too, of a man he met the same day in a dense forest who recognized him, and throwing up his hat in the air, said: "General, _please_ let me cheer you," and fell to cheering with all his lungs! * * * * * My last recollections of General Lee, when making a visit of several weeks at his house, the year before his death--although not coming properly under the head of "plantation reminiscences"--may not be inappropriate here. It has been said that a man is never a "hero to his valet;" but this could not have been said of General Lee, for those most intimately connected with him could not fail to see continually in his bearing and character something above the ordinary level, something of the hero. At the time of my visit the commencement exercises of the College, of which he was President, were going on. His duties were necessarily onerous. Sitting up late at night with the board of visitors, and attending to every detail with his conscientious particularity, there was little time for him to rest. Yet every morning of that busy week he was ready, with his prayer-book under his arm, when the church bell called its members to sun-rise service. It is pleasant to recall all he said at the breakfast, dinner and tea table, where in his hospitality he always insisted upon bringing all who chanced to be at his house at those hours--on business or on social call.[8] This habit kept his table filled with guests, who received from him elegant courtesy.