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* Rhodes's `History of the United States', v, 22.
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It is no wonder that under these circumstances men went to other countries, and that some of those who did not go cherished the project of transporting the people of various States to other lands, where the spirit of the civilization that had passed away might be preserved.* Many men whose names are now lost passed out to the States of the West. Business men, scholars, and men of all professions, who have since become famous in other States, were as complete a loss to the South as those who died on the battlefield. And when to all these are added the men and women who died broken-hearted at the losses of war, some idea may be conceived of the disadvantages under which the South began her work.

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* See the `Life and Letters of R. L. Dabney', for a plan in which many Virginians were interested.
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The work of those men who remained in the South and set about to inaugurate a new era cannot be too highly estimated, -- a work made all the more difficult by strong men who resisted the march of events, and who refused to accept the conditions that then prevailed. The readjustment came soon to more men than some have thought. Lanier, writing in 1867, before the pressure of reconstruction government had been felt, said, in commenting on the growing lack of restraint in modern political life: "At the close of that war, three armies which had been fighting on the Southern side, and which numbered probably forty thousand men, were disbanded. These men had for four years been subjected to the unfamiliar and galling restrictions of military discipline, and to the most maddening privations. . . . At the same time four millions of slaves, without provisions and without prospect of labor in a land where employers were impoverished, were liberated. . . . The reign of law at this thrilling time was at an end. The civil powers of the States were dead; the military power of the conquerors was not yet organized for civil purposes. The railroad and the telegraph, those most efficient sheriffs of modern times, had fallen in the shock of war. All possible opportunities presented themselves to each man who chose to injure his neighbor with impunity. The country was sparsely settled, the country roads were intricate, the forests were extensive and dense, the hiding-places were numerous and secure, the witnesses were few and ignorant. Never had crime such fair weather for his carnival. Serious apprehensions had long been entertained by the Southern citizens that in the event of a disastrous termination of the war, the whole army would be frenzied to convert itself, after disintegration, into forty thousand highwaymen. . . . Moreover, the feuds between master and slave, alleged by the Northern parties in the contest to have been long smouldering in the South, would seize this opportunity to flame out and redress themselves. Altogether, regarding humanity from the old point of view, there appeared to many wise citizens a clear prospect of dwelling in [the] midst of a furious pandemonium for several years after an unfavorable termination of the war; but was this prospect realized? Where were the highway robberies, the bloody vengeances, the arsons, the rapine, the murders, the outrages, the insults? They WERE, not anywhere. With great calmness the soldier cast behind him the memory of all wrongs and hardships and reckless habits of the war, embraced his wife, patched his cabin-roof, and proceeded to mingle the dust of recent battles yet lingering on his feet with the peaceful clods of his cornfield. What restrained these men? Was it fear? The word cannot be spoken. Was he who had breasted the storms of Gettysburg and Perryville to shrink from the puny arm of a civil law that was more powerless than the shrunken muscle of Justice Shallow? And what could the negro fear when his belief and assurance were that a conquering nation stood ready to support him in his wildest demands? It was the spirit of the time that brought about these things. . . . A thousand Atlantic Cables and Pacific Railroads would not have contributed cause for so earnest self-gratulation as was afforded by this one feature in our recent political convulsion."*

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* `Retrospects and Prospects', p. 29.
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Many Southerners were ready, like Lee, to forget the bitterness and prejudice of the war -- all but the hallowed memories. Lanier, at the close of a fanciful passage on the blood-red flower of war which blossomed in 1861, said: --

"It is supposed by some that the seed of this American specimen (now dead) yet remain in the land; but as for this author (who, with many friends, suffered from the unhealthy odors of the plant), he could find it in his heart to wish fervently that these seed, if there be verily any, might perish in the germ, utterly out of sight and life and memory and out of the remote hope of resurrection, forever and forever, no matter in whose granary they are cherished!"*

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* `Tiger Lilies', p. 116.
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In this spirit Lanier began his work in Montgomery, Ala. As has been seen, he had extended the hand of fellowship to his Northern friend, thus laying the basis for the spirit of reconciliation afterwards so dominant in his poetry. Uncongenial as was his work, he went about it with a new sense of the "dignity of labor". His aunt, Mrs. Watt, who had in the more prosperous times before the war traveled much in the North, and had graced the brilliant scenes of the opening of the Confederate Congress in Montgomery, becoming the intimate friend of Jefferson Davis and Stephens, now threw around her nephews -- Clifford was also working in the hotel -- the charm of the olden days. They found pleasure in social life: close to Montgomery lived the Cloptons and Ligons, who on their plantations enjoyed the gifts of "Santa Claus Cotton", just after the war. Lanier writes to his sister, September 26, 1866: "I have just returned from Tuskegee, where I spent a pleasant week. . . . They feted me to death, nearly. . . . Indeed, they were all so good and so kind to me, and the fair cousins were so beautiful, that I came back feeling as if I had been in a week's dream of fairyland." The two brothers, eager for more intellectual companionship, organized a literary club, for the meetings of which Sidney prepared his first literary exercises after the war. He played the pipe-organ in the Presbyterian church in Montgomery. He writes to a friend about some one who was in a state of melancholy: "She is right to cultivate music, to cling to it; it is the only REALITY left in the world for her and many like her. It will revolutionize the world, and that not long hence. Let her study it intensely, give herself to it, enter the very innermost temple and sanctuary of it. . . . The altar steps are wide enough for all the world." To another friend he writes at the same time: "Study Chopin as soon as you become able to play his music; and get his life by Liszt. 'T is the most enjoyable book you could read."

Most of the leisure time of the brothers, however, was spent in literary work, with even more ardor than while they had plenty of time to devote to it. By May 12 Clifford had finished his novel, "Thorn-Fruit", and Sidney was at work on "Tiger Lilies", the novel begun at Burwell's Bay in 1863 and retouched at different times since then. They were planning, too, a volume of poems, although with the exception of their father they had not been able "to find a single individual who sympathized in such a pursuit enough to warrant them in showing him their production, -- so scarce is general cultivation here; but," Sidney adds, "we work on, and hope to become at least recognized as good orderly citizens in the fair realm of letters yet." Indeed, they planned to go North in the fall "with bloody literary designs on some hapless publisher."*

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* Letters to Northrup.
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