_Woodlawn, April 14th._ Uncle Rene drove Sister home, and I came back here to take her place. Uncle Rene and Uncle William had a most dreadful experience on the ride from Pineville to Mexico with the Army. At one time they were guarded by only one black soldier, and they could hear others all around trying to bribe their guard to give them up to be killed; but the guard, though a darky, was above bribing. _Pooshee, April 20th._ I returned here to-day quite unexpectedly. Pa came down last night and went over for me. We are to leave on Monday. We hear the most exaggerated accounts of things here. To-day’s reports are that Lee’s Army, 32,000, has surrendered to Grant, and all the men paroled not to fight again during the war. The other report is that Sumterville and Summerton have both been burnt to the ground; of course we do not believe either of them. _April 21st._ We hear to-day that there has been a fight on the river, and two regiments of blacks under Potter completely cut up. _April 22nd._ Today’s news is very cheering; it is that Lincoln and Seward have both been assassinated, and that there is to be an Armistice. (Here the diary-letter ends without signature.) REMINISCENCES OF MRS. MARY RHODES (WARING) HENAGAN (_Written in December, 1917, to be Read at a Meeting of The Girls of the Sixties, Columbia, S. C._) The evacuation of Charleston, crossing of our soldiers over the Santee river, burning the bridge behind them, left the lower part of the State in the power of the Yankees. My home was in this deserted region. We knew that our enemies were all around and had visited in no kind manner many of the neighboring plantations, but Chelsea, our plantation and winter home, seemed to be exempted. We learned afterward that this was due to the devotion of our slaves. At last the Yankees did come. Our home, a big old colonial house built in 1714, was packed with refugees run from the coast from their homes earlier in the war. My mother directed each of us to go to my grandmother’s room as soon as we saw the Yankees coming, and meet them in a body there. My grandmother had passed her eightieth mile-stone and was old for her years.