R.E. Lee's Christmas in Mexico, 1846

Lee now found himself with one division of what was immeasurably the largest body of troops he had ever seen, fully 6,000 men! Once the reconnaissances were made and the camp was laid out he had no special duties until Christmas eve. . . . That evening his mind turned homeward, where he knew his children were preparing for Christmas. From his tent he wrote Custis and Rooney: "I hope good Santa Claus will fill my Rob's stocking tonight; that Mildred's, Agnes's and Annie's may break down with good things. I do not know what he may have for you and Mary, but if he only leaves for you one half of what I wish, you will want for nothing. I have frequently thought if I had one of you on each side of me riding on ponies, such as I could get you, I would be comparatively happy."



Shortly after breakfast Christmas morning a hurried message from some of the subsistence officers was sent to headquarters: The enemy was coming! . . . "The Mexicans, however, did not make their appearance," Lee wrote his wife that night. "Many regrets were expressed at Santa Anna's having spoiled our Christmas dinner for which ample preparations had been made. The little roasters remained tied to the tent pins wondering at their deferred fate, and the headless turkeys retained their plumage unscathed. Finding the enemy did not come, preparations were again made for dinner." The feast did not awaken enthusiasm in Lee's heart. He found, instead, what comfort he could in writing Mrs. Lee. "We have had many happy, happy Christmasses together," he said. "It is the first time we have been entirely separated at this holy time since our marriage. I hope it does not interfere with your happiness, surrounded as you are by father, mother, children, and dear friends. I therefore trust you are well and happy, and that this is the last time I shall be absent from you during my life. May God preserve and bless you till then and forever is my constant prayer." The language differed little from that which he was to employ in a letter written on a dark Christmas day, with far greater issues at stake, fifteen years thereafter.



From R.E. Lee by Douglas Southall Freeman, Vol. I, pp. 213-214

December 24, 1860, Augusta, Georgia

Friend Williams,



I hope you will pardon me for not writing you before now. I often think of you, but it is very hard for me to write a letter in the first place. I never know what to say and in the 2nd place my mind has been so much taken up on my teaching that it unfits me for anything else. Our Society gives their first concert New Years night in Concert Hall for the benefit of the poor children of the City. We shall have a large crowd to hear us. I will send you a program next week. We have got so as to sing very well indeed. I am sorry that you are not among our tenors. I rec'd a letter from Mr. Snow asking me to come to Mobile to teach. I have just wrote him and I wish you would call on him and tell him all you can about my teaching.



I send you a letter of introduction in this. Why did you not tell me the other day that you was married. It was a pretty good joke you played on us. You have my best wishes for a long and happy life together.



Please write me when you get time.



Most Resp't yours,



C. S. Mallette(?)

Gone with the Wind

"The sight of Tom Slattery dawdling on his neighbors' porches, begging cotton seed for planting or a side of bacon to 'tide him over,' was a familiar one. Slattery hated his neighbors with what little energy he possessed, sensing their contempt beneath their courtesy, and especially did he hate 'rich folks' uppity niggers.' The house negroes of the County considered themselves superior to white trash, and their unconcealed scorn stung him, while their more secure position in life stirred his envy. By contrast with his own miserable existence, they were well-fed, well-clothed and looked after in sickness and old age. They were proud of the good names of their owners and, for the most part, proud to belong to people who were quality, while he was despised by all."

Gone with the Wind, pp. 49-50