Amelia Barr in Texas, 1856-1868
It was about four o'clock in the afternoon that we came to the Colorado
River. . . . Then we mounted a hill, and a scene of unwritable beauty
was before us on every side. Other portions of Texas are lovely as
Paradise, but nowhere had I ever seen such exquisite and picturesque
arrangement of wood and mountains, grassy stretches, and silvery waters,
and crowned hills. From every mouth, there was an instant and spon-
taneous cry of delight.
The city was built on hills, surrounded by a rampart of higher hills,
crowned with the evergreen cedar, and the shining waters of the Colorado
wound in and out among these hills, and then swept grandly round the
southern part of the city. For a minute or two Senor Tomas--as if
compelled by his own innate love of what was picturesque--drew reins
on the top of the hill on which there stood a little church. It was painted
a pale pink color, and did not look inconsistent. It must have been full
of the perfume of the Chinaberry trees, and it stood at the gate of the
town like a visible prayer.
Such was the refreshing enthusiasm with which Amelia
Barr, accompanied by her husband, Robert Barr, and their
two small daughters, entered the capital of Texas in 1856.
Austin was to be their home for ten years. They were to know
it intimately during its happy, carefree pre-war days, through-
out the vicissitudes of the Civil War, and in its humiliation
during the post-war period.
In those days Amelia Barr was an amiable and cultivated
young matron, known to but few. Many years later she was to
become famous as a writer of sentimental novels. In 1913, at
the age of eighty-two, she was working on her autobiography,
which was published in 1914. Aided by her diary and a re-
markable photographic memory, she was able to picture with
great vividness the experiences of the Barr family in Texas.
Of the sixty-one books Mrs. Barr was to write, not one was
half as interesting as the authoress. Her father was the Rev.
William Henry Huddleston, a Methodist minister, the son of
John Henry Huddleston, a sea captain. Most of the early
Huddlestons were either men of the sea or men of the cloth.
Some were explorers. One tradition asserted that an Abbot
Huddleston carried the Host before King Edward the Confessor
and that it was a Benedictine monk named Huddleston, who
found his way up the back stairs of Windsor Castle to King
Charles II's bedroom to give the dying monarch the last com-
forting rites of his church. The pedigree of the Huddlestons of
Millom was traced back to five generations before the Norman
Conquest in 1066.
Even as a young child, Amelia was precocious. Of her birth
she wrote in 1913: "I
came to them [her parents] with hands
full of gifts, and among them the faculty of recollection. To
this hour I wear the key of memory, and can open every door
in the house of my life." Her mother, Mary Singleton, was
a sweet, family-loving woman. Thus, in an atmosphere of
kindliness, sympathy, culture, and sincere religious thinking
and living, Amelia grew into young womanhood. She was
carefully educated, especially in literature and music. As an
elderly woman she could recite by the score poems she had
learned as a girl.
Her father, considered comfortably well-to-do, lost his money
through the treachery of a friend. After this family misfor-
tune, Amelia got her parents' consent to earn her own living
by teaching in a girls' school, where she was a success from
the start. But circumstances forced the school to close, and
before Amelia could get her next teaching assignment, she was
required to attend a normal school in Glasgow. Here she met
Robert Barr, young, handsome, affable, and well off, regarded
by ambitious mothers as one of the prime "catches" of the
city. Barr saw Amelia and was conquered. There were a few
months of courtship and then marriage.
Just as the Reverend Mr. Huddleston had lost most of his capi-
tal by misguided trust in another man, so was kindly Robert
Barr victimized. He went to his office one day to find himself
ruined financially and heavily in debt. Amelia consoled him, sug-
gested ways and means of paying the debts, and strongly advised
their leaving Scotland. Her strength steadied and guided him.
They voyaged to New York, visited Canada, and finally set-
tled in Chicago, where Robert rented an office and advertised
himself as an accountant while Amelia opened a private school
for children. Robert soon found himself drawn irresistibly into
the stormy maelstrom of Chicago politics. He was unwise or
unlucky enough to make a personal enemy of a wealthy and
powerful politician. Their quarrel led to a fist fight, in which
Barr seems to have been the winner, but the politician swore
vengeance, and Robert had the choice of staying in Chicago
to await sudden death from a gangster or leaving posthaste.
A sensible man, he chose to leave. He went to Memphis, where
he was given work almost at once by a prominent merchant.
A few weeks later he was joined there by Amelia and the
children. They were no more than happily settled when the
yellow fever plague appeared, and it was necessary to move
again. The family took passage on a river steamer bound for
New Orleans. To their horror they discovered too late that
below decks were slaves on their way to be sold in the New
Orleans slave market. The moaning and wailing were almost
more than the sensitive Amelia could endure. It was no little
relief for her to leave the ship at New Orleans and go straight-
way to the cool and spacious rooms of the St. Charles Hotel.
Yellow fever was striking hard, however, in New Orleans
too. In low tones the couple discussed their predicament. Too
late now to turn back north; why not go on to Texas, where
it was said opportunities for able men were begging? A few
days later the harassed Barr family, their slender purse grow-
ing thinner daily, boarded the steamer Lone
Star
for Galves-
ton. After a pleasant and leisurely voyage, they dropped an-
chor at this semi-tropical port only to find that here again
the yellow scourge was raging. New friends advised the Barrs
to enter the interior and settle somewhere in the hill country.
They chose Austin.
The remarkable story of Amelia Barr cannot be understood
without some knowledge of her complex mentality. She was
a mystic. By both heredity and environment, she was deeply
religious. Her religious concerns were as vital to her as food
and drink. She was also a shrewd, practical, and observant
woman. Here surely are the ingredients of a dual nature.
Amelia Barr lived simultaneously two lives. She was quite
awake and alert in the matter-of-fact, materialistic world of
daily affairs, but all the while she was acutely conscious of a
larger surrounding spiritual existence. As to which of the two
worlds had greater meaning for her, she expressed her con-
viction clearly and firmly.
It is true, we live in a very present and very real world, and many
are only too ready to believe that the spiritual world is far-off and
shadowy. On the contrary, the spiritual world is here
and now
and
indisputably and pre-eminently real. It is the material world that is the
realm of shadows.
Her decisions were often determined by compelling intuitions
or hunches. She begged Robert to have nothing to do with
the Chicago politician who later ruined his chances there, but
Robert only laughed at her. On entering certain houses or
rooms, she was instantly depressed, for she sensed something
spiritually unclean in the atmosphere. The skeptic may smile
if he wishes; it is still extraordinary how many of her pre-
monitions were justified. William James, who wrote The
Va
-
rieties
of
Religious
Experience,
would have had no trouble in
understanding her.
Amelia Barr's most striking mystical experiences were in the
form of prophetic dreams. Her autobiography, All
the
Days
of
My
Life,
is replete with accounts of them, so vivid, so sharply
etched as almost to startle the reader. He remembers her
dreams as his own. As to her sincerity in relating these ex-
periences, there can be no doubt whatever.
Probably few persons outside her own family circle knew
the mystical Amelia. Others saw no more than a cheerful,
amiable, good-looking young woman in fine health, possessing
a ready sense of humor, keen intelligence, and many accom-
plishments. She had a personality that attracted and deserved
friends, and she made many wherever she went.
A strong feminist, Amelia Barr saw that women were held
back by the ruling sex, and she longed for the day she knew
was coming when women would have opportunities to do the
things of which they were capable. Though liking men, she
resented their conceit. No matter how ugly a man may be,
she once remarked, he still thinks he is attractive to women.
Let any honest man deny the charge.
On her voyage down the Mississippi to Memphis, Amelia
made her first observation of the chivalrous attentions shown
by southern men to their womenfolk. More than fifty years
later, she wrote:
I never before saw such handsome, courtly men, such lovely, languorous,
beautifully dressed women. I never before saw women treated as if they
were angels and children as if they were cherubims, and what could I
think of men who appeared to serve every woman upon their knees? It
was not only the young and beautiful who were thus adored. There were
several aged women present, and they received the same attentions, affec-
tionately mingled with a respect that was almost veneration. It bewildered
me. I longed for all the Scotchmen and Englishmen I ever knew to be
on the Mississippi with me. I took great pains when I wrote my next
letter home to enlarge on this peculiarity of Southern gentlemen, and to
give it all the praise it merited.
Street. They were delighted with their first dinner there. On
the table were roast beef, chicken pie, bear meat, and antelope
steaks. An old Texan present told Mrs. Barr that the greatest
delicacy in Texas was bear's paws preserved in Madeira wine
and a little brandy.
When
it
was learned in
Austin that Robert Barr was an
accountant, he was greeted with exuberant cordiality by the
lawmakers in the capitol. The financial affairs of the state of
Texas were badly jumbled. Three men had already tried and
given up the job of putting the accounts in order, and Barr
was offered five dollars a day--hours from ten to four, includ-
ing an hour for lunch--if he could bring order out of chaos.
He was shown a long table, piled high with bills and docu-
ments. Barr explained his work to his wife:
It is all dollars and cents--commissions paid to certain men for buying
goods for the military board, advances made by different houses, etc.
You see, Millie, the Republic of Texas has just been bought by the United
States. Some of her debts the United States assumes, some she must
pay or has paid herself, and there are agreements covering a score of
points of this kind. It is a very intricate piece of business, I assure you.
A genial, friendly couple, the Barrs were at once drawn
into the social life of Austin. Commenting on this experience,
Amelia noted that women are never democrats, that every
society has an exclusive set. In Austin she called that set a
mixed affair. Its leaders, she wrote, were Mrs. Tom Green
and Mrs. George Durham. "Mrs. Green was young, clever,
and intimately and decidedly Texan. She was witty and sar-
castic, and many were afraid of her criticisms. She dressed
well and entertained delightfully, in Texas fashion, the ladies
she chose to honor." Mrs. Durham was the wife of George
Durham, an Englishman from Mrs. Barr's own north England
country and an employee of the comptroller's office. The Dur-
hams lived in a small log house on the road to the ferry. Mrs.
Durham's sitting room was as entertaining as the local news
in the weekly paper. Though not pretty or clever or stylish,
Mrs. Durham was the most popular woman in Austin.
The women of the Texas capital lived pleasant, serene, and
unexciting lives. They had an abundance of slave servants,
and they often visited in one another's homes for indefinite
periods. Their chief occupation appeared to Amelia to be "an
endless tucking of fine muslin, and inserting lace in the same.
Some women chewed snuff without cessation, and such women
neither tucked nor inserted. They simply rocked to and fro,
putting in a word occasionally."
Amelia remembered that in 1856 there were only two pianos
in Austin, one in the Governor's mansion and the other be-
longing to a rich Jewish family named Henricks. There was
no bookstore in the city, and few books were seen in
private homes. There was no theater, no lecture or concert
hall, no public library, and no public entertainments except an
occasional ball when the legislature was in session. The women
often had spend-the-day parties, at which they would do their
sewing and indulge in local gossip. On one of these occasions,
a Mrs. R , the wife of an old Texan major who had been
in many battles and Indian fights, appeared greatly worried.
She explained that her husband had been raving about his room
for three days and nights, and that Doctor Alexander had told
him his trouble might continue for weeks or months. Then
Mrs. R threw a bombshell; she announced that the major,
well advanced in his eighties, was cutting a whole set of new
teeth. "It was not like Ben," said Mrs. R , "to make a
fuss about pain. He came home one day with a Comanche
feather sticking out of his back and has suffered everything
but death and been as meek and mild as any Christian could
be, and yet now he is raging around like a mad bull."
Amelia Barr found much to admire in the frontier Texas
women of this period. She described them as brave and re-
sourceful, especially in times of danger. Most of them were
fine riders and crack shots and quite able, when the men of
the household were away, to manage their ranches or planta-
tions and keep faithful guard over their families.
The first three or four years Amelia spent in Austin were
among the happiest of her life. Remembering these years, she
wrote:
Their memory steals upon me swift and sweet and sure as a vision.
I hear the fluting of the wind and the tinkling of guitars. I see the
white-robed girls waltzing in the moonshine down the broad sidewalks of
the avenue, and the men, some in full evening dress, and others in all
kinds, picturesque frontier fashion, strolling leisurely down its royally
wide highway. I am sitting in the little wood house, with its white-washed
ceilings and unpainted stairway, and one sits at my side who left me
forty-five years ago.
J. W. Throckmorton, chairman of the Senate Committee, and
the Honorable C. W. Buckley, chairman of the House Com-
mittee:
The balance sheet will show the exact pecuniary condition of the affairs
of the Board in every point, and it is unnecessary to say more upon the
subject than to invite an inspection of it. The Committee were extremely
fortunate in procuring the services of a gentleman to act as their Secretary
so well qualified to perform the duties and so well versed in book-keeping
as Mr. Barr. His qualifications have lightened their labors and an inspec-
tion of the exhibit prepared by him is only necessary to prove how for-
tunate we have been in procuring his services.
After three years of idyllic life in Austin, the Barrs began
to discern an ominous change.
In 1859 there were bitter disputes wherever men were congregated and
domestic quarrels on every hearth-stone, while feminine friendships melted
away in the heat of passionate arguments so well seasoned with person-
alities. There were now three distinct parties: One for remaining in
the Union; a second which demanded a strict Confederacy, and a third
which wished Texas to resume her independence and to fly the Lone Star
flag again. It was a quarrel with three sides, and the women universally
entered into it, with so much temper, that I could not help thinking they
had all exercised too much long-suffering in the past, and were glad of
a lawful opportunity to be a little ill-natured.
Amelia seldom heard slavery named as a reason for secession.
Texans were more or less used to losing their slaves, who
would often run away to the Rio Grande and cross into Mexico.
Many slaveowners told her they would be satisfied to free their
slaves on such terms as those in England had been freed. The
Texans were mainly concerned over the question of states'
rights and were furious that the United States should inter-
fere in the social and domestic arrangements of Texas. So
heated were these discussions that the atmosphere at the last
social gathering in the Barr home was like that in a political
arena.
One night, tired, unhappy and anxious, Amelia slept fitfully.
She dreamed she was on
a vast plain, dark and lonely with the black clouds low over it and the
rain falling in a heavy, swollen downpour; and as I stood with clasped
hands, but without the power to pray, a great white arch grew out of the
darkness. It seemed high as heaven, and wide as the horizon, and I
wondered at its beauty and majesty. But, as I looked, I saw a black line
down the center of it grow to a visible break, and this break grow
wider and wider, until one-half of the arch fell to the ground, amid
groans and cries, far off, but terrible. At the same moment, I saw a
Presence
of great height, dim and shadowy, standing beside the ruined
arch, and he cried for the birds
of
prey
in a voice that filled all space.
Turning north, and south, and east and west, he cried, "Come!
and
I
will
give
you
flesh
to
eat!"
So Amelia and Robert knew that war was inevitable. After
talking over the dark prospect, they decided to remain in Texas,
though Robert vowed he would take no oath against the United
States.
They talked of Sam Houston, who, Robert said, would be
returning to Austin soon. "You will see him some morning
soon, sitting in front of Tong's Grocery, looking like a lion
and wearing a Serape Saltillero like a royal mantle. I can't
help admiring the man, though I do not like him. In a far off
way he reminds me of Oliver Cromwell." Robert went on to
explain that Houston was then in a Washington hotel, faith-
fully attending every session of the Senate and every meeting
of the Baptist Church and unceasingly whittling hearts and
anchors and other such toys out of bits of pine wood.
Houston returned to Texas in the autumn of 1859, when he
defeated his old political enemy, Governor Hardin R. Runnels,
for the governorship. Amelia considered Houston the grandest
and most picturesque figure in American history. An immense
crowd came into Austin to witness his inauguration. The town
was filled with rangers and frontiersmen, deserting United
State soldiers waiting to join the Confederate Army, and little
squads of Lipan or Tonkawa Indians, who were the spies and
scouts of the United States Army in their constant warfare
against the cruel and hostile Comanche and Apache tribes.
But on this occasion there was even present a party of Apaches,
come to visit Houston, the faithful friend of all Indians.
Houston's election was regarded as a great triumph for the
Unionists in Texas, but everyone in Austin knew that, if Lin-
coln were elected President, war would come. After Lincoln's
election, Houston found himself compelled to summon a Gen-
eral Convention in Austin on January 27, 1861. It submitted
secession to a popular vote and adjourned.
One day some one mentioned Jefferson Davis to Houston,
who had spoken rather mildly of some of the leaders of the
secession movement. Houston replied: "I know Jefferson Davis,
and I did not mention him because I know him. He is proud
as Lucifer and cold as a lizard."
Amelia attended the ceremony in the capitol, at which meas-
ures were adopted for entering the Confederacy. At this meet-
ing all state officers were ordered to take the oath of allegiance
to the new Southern government. Houston was heard in silence
while he firmly but clearly explained his reasons for refusing
to take the oath. The lieutenant governor, Edward Clarke,
however, promptly complied. As he reached the desk on which
the ordinance of secession lay, a Unionist friend of Mrs. Barr's,
a girl of about sixteen, leaned forward and deliberately spat
on the document. There was a little laughter from some of
the spectators as Clarke silently removed the blemish with his
handkerchief.
At this time Amelia was greatly worried about Robert. She
knew his Unionist sympathies and the dangers in a community
predominantly Confederate. She thought that men were often
unreasonably stubborn. But she observed: "Men are made that
way. They have prejudices, and they call them principles, and
then---sink or swim, they stick to them." Since living in Aus-
tin, Amelia had modified considerably her notions about slav-
ery. In principle she, too, abhorred slavery, but she found her
negro servants to be thieving, lying, and indolent, and she
lost much of her pity for all negroes.
One morning on her way to Henricks' Store, she heard mili-
tary music, and there came swinging into her view the march-
ing men of the Second Texas on their way to war. Not a
soldier in the procession weighed less than one hundred eighty
pounds. "They were all very tall, wiry men--straight as their
own gun barrels, with upward carriage and full of that kind
of spirit we call 'mettle' in a horse." She paused a minute to
pray for these men who were to achieve a record unsurpassed
for bravery and misfortune. She remarked that not a single
one ever returned to Texas.
Amelia blamed the women for driving their menfolk into
the war. In their bitterness Confederate women sympathizers
would have nothing to do with the male members of their
families who would not enlist. They would not eat with them,
speak to them, or listen if spoken to. This treatment drove
the younger men into the army, though, as Amelia noted, the
middle-aged and the old men needed no such coercion, for most
of them were hotheaded and ready to fight for their ideas.
On February 26, 1862, Amelia noted in her diary that there
was bad political news: Fort Donelson and Nashville had been
taken. On March 3 she drove out to see Bishop and Mrs. Alex-
ander Gregg. On March 13 she wrote that Nashville and
Columbus had been evacuated. On March 16 the bells in Austin
started ringing, and there was great excitement. Every dog
in town seemed to be barking. When Robert came home, he
said that Price and McCulloch had whipped the enemy in
Missouri, taking thirty thousand prisoners, and that Beaure-
gard had taken fourteen regiments in Tennessee. On March
29 Bishop Gregg called to pay his respects, for it was
Amelia's thirty-first birthday. Robert was sad because he could
give her no gift. On July 18 came the news of McClellan's
defeat. "The town seemed drunk with excitement. There was
shouting and bell ringing and the continual cracking of fire-
arms."
During the years that followed, however, the fortunes of
war shifted. The Confederacy lost the glittering prize of vic-
tory, almost within its grasp, and its early triumphs were
succeeded by defeats and waning strength.
On May 14, 1865, Robert returned from downtown to report
the surrender of Lee and Johnston. It was soon realized that
the Confederate cause was lost. Returning gray-clad soldiers
began pouring into Austin, and soon both soldiers and citizens
were plundering stores amid scenes of much disorder and con-
fusion. Law enforcement ceased. Governor Lubbock and other
state officers fled to Mexico. The Barr family remained quietly
at home.
In 1866 Robert, having no further employment in Austin,
received an offer to go to work for a cotton firm in Galveston.
He accepted, and three months later, on September 25, 1866,
Amelia and the four children left Austin to join him.
The first few months in Galveston were happy ones, but late
in April of 1867, the dread yellow fever became serious. Daily
the terror grew. The Barr family decided to move from the
thickly settled neighborhood in which they lived. Robert rented
an old house near the sea that had been recently renovated,
known as the Durr home. When Amelia first inspected this
ancient dwelling, she felt "an indefinable repugnance" in the
rooms. The interior of the house was dark, shadowy, and filled
with an eerie atmosphere. A short distance from the house
was a military camp, occupied by a thousand United States
soldiers before the epidemic began. Here the disease made such
inroads that finally not thirty troops were left to bury their
colonel. All but a few shops in Galveston were closed. Grass
grew long in the yards and streets, and thousands of tiny frogs
covered the ground. Sickly odors permeated the air. The mu-
nicipal government placed barrels of burning tar throughout
the city in an effort to reduce the plague.
One evening Amelia joined Robert in a walk downtown on
a business errand. When they returned, they found the chil-
dren alone and terror-stricken. They explained they could not
sleep because evil men had entered the house and gone about
the rooms cursing and quarreling. Gertrude, the German maid,
had unexpectedly left. The next morning Gertrude explained
she would not stay in the house overnight because, she said,
"dreadful men kept going up and down the stairs all night."
Puzzled by this state of affairs, Amelia and Robert got the
explanation some time later when they received a social visit
by a Mr. Hall. He expressed surprise that the Barrs had moved
into the old Durr home, which had been unoccupied for a long
time. He explained that it was known as the former rendezvous
of Jean Lafitte and his pirate crews when it was painted a
blood red. No one in Galveston would live there until the Barrs
had unknowingly occupied it after its renovation.
One night Amelia had an unusually vivid dream. Before
her was a black, motionless river. Suddenly a gaunt, saffron
figure of a man rose to a sitting posture in the river and in-
toned: "One shall be taken, and the other left." It was not
long after this dream that the plague struck the Barr house-
hold with all its fury. Every member was stricken. Amelia
and her daughters recovered, but first the sons died, followed
by their father.
Amelia was left to struggle for herself and her three small
daughters. She bravely opened a boarding house on Tremont
Street that she operated successfully for a while until changing
conditions made it a losing venture. Then an inner voice di-
rected her to go to New York. Twenty years before in Eng-
land, Henry Ward Beecher, who had met her briefly, had told
her he would be glad to help her if she ever visited New York.
She had not forgotten the promise, but she doubted that Beecher
would remember it. The little family left Galveston on a
steamer November 17, 1868.
Amelia's first work in New York was that of governess in
the family of William Libbey. Mr. Libbey encouraged her to
write a magazine article describing the break-up of the Con-
federacy in Texas, which Amelia had vividly related to him.
She promptly sold this article to D. Appleton and Company
for thirty dollars. She renewed her acquaintance with Henry
Ward Beecher, who, true to his promise, gave her regular
employment as a writer for the Christian
Union
magazine.
Thus, she embarked on her literary career when she was nearly
thirty-nine years old.
She worked with tremendous energy and ambition, turning
out scores of newspaper and magazine articles, poems, and
stories. In 1885 Dodd, Mead, and Company published her first
novel, Jan
Vedder's
Wife.
The book was promptly acclaimed
and established her as a novelist. In 1886 three more novels
were published, followed by the same number in 1887. In 1888
appeared the novel for which Texans have known Amelia Barr
best, Remember
the
Alamo.
She was paid one thousand dollars
for it. Among the letters of appreciation she received, the
most highly prized one came from William R. Houston, dated
October 22, 1888, thanking her for her treatment of his dis-
tinguished father. The great Sam Houston was in fact one of
Amelia's favorite heroes, and she recorded that as she wrote
Remember
the
Alamo,
Houston seemed to be standing beside
her, offering silent encouragement and approval.
From 1885 to 1911, inclusive, the firm of Dodd, Mead, and
Company published forty-two novels written by Amelia Barr.
Other publishers launched nineteen additional books of novels
and stories.
When an old woman, at the height of her literary career,
she won the homage of both literary critics and ordinary
readers. Letters of appreciation came from such diverse celebri-
ties as Robert G. Ingersoll, Henry Van Dyke, Moses Coit Tyler,
and Theodore Roosevelt.
It can not be denied that her novels have few of the enduring
qualities that make permanent literature. As a writer she had
pronounced gifts, but she had nothing approaching genius.
Like many another popular author, she wrote too fast and too
much, driven always by the urgency of earning a living for
her daughters and herself. Her work lacked discipline and
restraint. The melodrama and sentimentality of many of her
novels make them somewhat ridiculous to the realistic fiction
readers of today.
She herself was greater than anything she wrote. Her strong
and cheerful spirit rose above every hardship, every setback,
every grief. She proved in a long life of achievement that she
was indeed the master of her fate. She deeply loved life and
people, and her faith in God and the ultimate triumph of truth
and justice never wavered. Until she died her vital, youthful
spirit burned like a bright, steady flame.
"I have warmed both hands at the fire of life," she reflected
in concluding her autobiography at the age of eighty-two. "I
have drunk every cup, joyful or sorrowful, life could give me;
but neither my soul nor my heart is old."
How to cite:
Paul Adams, "Amelia Barr in Texas, 1856-1868", Volume 49, Number 3, Southwestern Historical Quarterly Online, http://www.tsha.utexas.edu/publications/journals/shq/online/v049/n3/contrib_DIVL5213.html
[Accessed Sun Nov 23 5:22:23 CST 2008]
