more generous food, I rapidly mended. In the early part of July, I was able to assist in the last part of the harvest, and to join in the harvest supper. The farm-house where my Good Samaritan lived is situated close to the Hagerstown pike--a few miles beyond Sharpsburg. My friend’s name is one of the few that has escaped my memory. I stayed with him until the middle of August, well-fed and cared for, and when I left him he insisted on driving me to Hagerstown, and paying my railway fare to Baltimore, viâ Harrisburg.[10] PART II THE LIFE, FROM STANLEY’S JOURNALS, NOTES, ETC. CHAPTER X JOURNALISM Up to this point Stanley has told his own story. The chapter which follows is almost wholly a weaving together of material which he left. That material consists, first, of an occasional and very brief diary, which he kept from 1862; then, at irregular intervals through many years, entries in a fuller journal, and occasional comments and retrospects in his note-books, during the last peaceful years of life. He was discharged from Harper’s Ferry, June 22, 1862. Then he seems to have turned his hand to one resource and another, to support himself; we find him ‘harvesting in Maryland,’ and, later, on an oyster-schooner, getting upon his feet, and out of the whirlpool of war into which he had naturally been drawn by mere propinquity, so to speak; now his heart turned with longing to his own kin, and the belated affection which he trusted he might find. * * * * * November, 1862. I arrived, in the ship ‘E. Sherman,’ at Liverpool. I was very poor, in bad health, and my clothes were shabby. I made my way to Denbigh, to my mother’s house. With what pride I knocked at the door, buoyed up by a hope of being able to show what manliness I had acquired, not unwilling, perhaps, to magnify what I meant to _become_; though what I was, the excellence of my present position, was not so obvious to myself! Like a bride arraying herself in her best for her lover, I had arranged my story to please one who would, at last, I hoped, prove an affectionate mother! But I found no affection, and I never again sought for, or expected, what I discovered had never existed. I was told that ‘I was a disgrace to them in the eyes of their neighbours, and they desired me to leave as speedily as possible.’ * * * * *