r object in life, as before; with only one
desire--to die--and death still flees from him, and he Dares not rid
himself of life.

All those dancing there that night have undergone trial and affliction
since. Father is dead, and Harry. Mr. Trezevant lies at Corinth with
his skull fractured by a bullet; every young man there has been in at
least one battle since, and every woman has cried over her son,
brother, or sweetheart, going away to the wars, or lying sick and
wounded. And yet we danced that night, and never thought of bloodshed!
The week before Louisiana seceded, Jack Wheat stayed with us, and we
all liked him so much, and he thought so much of us;--and last week--a
week ago to-day--he was killed on the battle-field of Shiloh.

April 16th.

Among the many who visited us, in the beginning of 1861, there was Mr.
Bradford. I took a dislike to him the first time I ever saw him, and,
being accustomed to say just what I pleased to all the other gentlemen,
tried it with him. It was at dinner, and for a long while I had the
advantage, and though father would sometimes look grave, Gibbes, and
all at my end of the table, would scream with laughter. At last Mr.
Bradford commenced to retaliate, and my dislike changed into respect
for a man who could make an excellent repartee with perfect
good-breeding; and after dinner, when the others took their leave, and
he asked permission to remain,--during his visit, which lasted until
ten o'clock, he had gone over such a variety of subjects, conversing so
well upon all, that Miriam and I were so interested that we forgot to
have the gas lit!

April 17th.

And another was silly little Mr. B----r, my little golden calf. What
a--don't call names! I owe him a grudge for "cold hands," and the other
day, when I heard of his being wounded at Shiloh, I could not help
laughing a little at Tom B----r's being hurt. What was the use of
throwing a nice, big cannon ball, that might have knocked a man down,
away on that poor little fellow, when a pea from a popgun would have
made the same impression? Not but what he is brave, but little Mr.
B----r is so soft.

Then there was that rattle-brain Mr. T----t who, commencing one
subject, never ceased speaking until he had touched on all. One evening
he came in talking, and never paused even for a reply until he bowed
himself out, talk