r home in the Confederacy. After
three days spent in searching Augusta, Gibbes wrote that it was
impossible to find a vacant room for us, as the city was already
crowded with refugees. A kind Providence must have destined that
disappointment in order to save my life, if there is any reason for
Colonel Steadman's fears. We next wrote to Mobile, Brandon, and even
that horrid little Liberty, besides making inquiries of every one we
met, while Charlie, too, was endeavoring to find a place, and
everywhere received the same answer--not a vacant room, and provisions
hardly to be obtained at all.

The question has now resolved itself to whether we shall see mother die
for want of food in Clinton, or, by sacrificing an outward show of
patriotism (the inward sentiment cannot be changed), go with her to New
Orleans, as Brother begs in the few letters he contrives to smuggle
through. It looks simple enough. Ought not mother's life to be our
first consideration? Undoubtedly! But suppose we could preserve her
life and our free sentiments at the same time? If we could only find a
resting-place in the Confederacy! This, though, is impossible. But to
go to New Orleans; to cease singing "Dixie"; to be obliged to keep your
sentiments to yourself--for I would not wound Brother by any
Ultra-Secession speech, and such could do me no good and only injure
him--_if_ he is as friendly with the Federals as they say he is; to
listen to the scurrilous abuse heaped on those fighting for our homes
and liberties, among them my three brothers--could I endure it? I fear
not. Even if I did not go crazy, I would grow so restless, homesick,
and miserable, that I would pray for even Clinton again. Oh, I don't,
don't want to go! If mother would only go alone, and leave us with
Lilly! But she is as anxious to obtain Dr. Stone's advice for me as we
are to secure her a comfortable home; and I won't go anywhere without
Miriam, so we must all go together. Yet there is no disguising the fact
that such a move will place us in a very doubtful position to both
friends and enemies. However, all our friends here warmly advocate the
move, and Will Pinckney and Frank both promised to knock down any one
who shrugged their shoulders and said anything about it. But what would
the boys say? The fear of displeasing them is my chief distress. George
writes in the greatest distress about my prolonged illness, and his
alarm about my condition. "Of one thing I am sure," he writes