the long agony of suspense, a terrible strain, which at last made great inroads on my strength.
The knowledge of the secreting of arms on my premises, the distribution of munitions of war amongst the people who were guarding my house and grounds, has been imputed to me. Whether any arms were brought there, where they were, or what they were, I never took occasion to inquire. I never saw a single pistol or rifle by day or by night. I remember that I had occasion to scold my gardener for the disturbed condition in which I often found my plants. It seemed as though some persons had been digging up the ground, and replacing the disturbed soil. But no arms were secreted by me or by my orders about the place, from the roof to the cellar, or from one end to the other of the garden, nor were any kept there to my knowledge, save parlor rifles and harmless old-fashioned muskets.
My husband had a passion for collecting ancient specimens of firearms, and for this purpose he set apart in the yard a small cottage which had once been a favorite retreat of his bachelor days. He had everything arranged prettily, and on its walls was a formidable show of antiquated instruments of war. I recall the appearance of one very old Arabian musket, which he took special pride in exhibiting to his friends. There was also an old-fashioned flute, and a sword which, so it was said, had formerly belonged to General Washington.
There were many other relics of antiquity in this line, which had been contributed by his friends,—large pistols and small pistols, loading with ramrods from the muzzle, clubs and spears from the South Sea Islands;
