The war of secession was ended lately ended; and Mr. Silas Mather was once more in Charleston. It had been many years since he was in that notorious city so much more notorious even than when he quitted it, when he shook off the dust of his feet against it. Over and over he had said to himself and to others that he would never again go there. Over and over, too, he had resolved that he would go there would somehow or othet force an entry into the accursed place ;would visit it in enmity, and trample it with his triumph. As a man who had suffered from its social pride, and as a citizen whose patriotism abhorred its counsels, he had regarded it with vindictiveness and with deep hatred. Now he stood amid its ruins. He saw its few and fallen burghers walking meekly to and fro, decimated, impoverished, humbled, and disconsolate. Their raiment was homespun, or, if they still had broadcloth, it was wofu Uystained and threadbare.
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