, of Natchez, a friend
of Mrs. F.'s, and is traveling home with the dead body of her eldest son,
killed at Manassas. She stopped two days waiting for a boat, and begged me
to share her room and read her to sleep, saying she couldn't be alone
since he was killed; she feared her mind would give way. So I read all the
comforting chapters to be found till she dropped into forgetfulness, but
the recollection of those weeping mothers in the cemetery banished sleep
for me.

_Nov. 26, 1861._--The lingering summer is passing into those misty autumn
days I love so well, when there is gold and fire above and around us. But
the glory of the natural and the gloom of the moral world agree not well
together. This morning Mrs. F. came to my room in dire distress. "You
see," she said, "cold weather is coming on fast, and our poor fellows are
lying out at night with nothing to cover them. There is a wail for
blankets, but there is not a blanket in town. I have gathered up all the
spare bed-clothing, and now want every available rug or table-cover in the
house. Can't I have yours, G.? We must make these small sacrifices of
comfort and elegance, you know, to secure independence and freedom."

"Very well," I said, denuding the table. "This may do for a drummer boy."

_Dec. 26, 1861._--The foul weather cleared off bright and cool in time for
Christmas. There is a midwinter lull in the movement of troops. In the
evening we went to the grand bazaar in the St. Louis Hotel, got up to
clothe the soldiers. This bazaar has furnished the gayest, most
fashionable war-work yet, and has kept social circles in a flutter of
pleasant, heroic excitement all through December. Everything beautiful or
rare garnered in the homes of the rich was given for exhibition, and in
some cases for raffle and sale. There were many fine paintings, statues,
bronzes, engravings, gems, laces--in fact, heirlooms, and bric-a-brac of
all sorts. There were many lovely Creole girls present, in exquisite
toilets, passing to and fro through the decorated rooms, listening to the
band clash out the Anvil Chorus.

This morning I joined the B.'s and their party in a visit to the new
fortifications below the city. It all looks formidable enough, but of
course I am no judge of military defenses. We passed over the
battle-ground where Jackson fought the English, and thinking of how he
dealt with treason, one could almost fancy his unquiet ghost stalking
about.

_Jan. 2, 1862_.--I am