This beautiful old mansion on Bolingbroke Street could look back to the
days of buckles and small clothes; it wears an aggrieved and surprised
look, as if wondering why it should have received such buffetings as its
pierced walls, its shattered windows and doorway show. Yet it was more
fortunate than some of its near-by neighbors, which were never again after
the visitation of the falling shells fit habitations for mankind. Many of
these handsome residences were utterly destroyed, their fixtures shattered
beyond repair; their wainscoting, built when the Commonwealth of Virginia
was ruled over by the representative of King George, was torn from the
walls and, bursting into flames, made a funeral pyre of past comforts and
magnificence. The havoc wrought upon the dwellings of the town was heavy;
certain localities suffered more than others, and those residents who
seemed to dwell in the safest zones had been ever ready to open their
houses to the sick and wounded of Lee's army. As Grant's troops marched
in, many pale faces gazed out at them from the windows, and at the
doorsteps stood men whose wounds exempted them from ever bearing arms
again.
[Illustration: THE SHATTERED DOORWAY