icers, would
be more than happy to see us in their prison. Position of affairs
rather reversed since we last met!

BOOK V

NEW ORLEANS, August, 1863.
Friday, 14th.

Doomed to be bored! To-night Miriam drags me to a _soiree musicale_,
and in the midst of my toilet, I sit down with bare shoulders to
scratch a dozen lines in my new treasure which has been by me for three
days, untouched. I don't know what tempts me to do it except
perversity; for I have nothing to say.

I was in hopes that I would never have occasion to refer to the
disagreeable subject that occupied the last pages of my old journal,
but the hope proves fallacious, and wherever I turn, the same subject
is renewed. So there is no longer any reason in waiting until all
mention can be avoided. Yesterday a little, sly, snaky creature asked
me if I knew "the Hero of Port Hudson." "Yes," I said briefly.
"Unmistakable! I see it in your face!" she remarked. "See what?" "That
you betray yourself. Do you know that every one believes that you are
engaged to him?" In surprise I said no; such a thing had never been
mentioned before me until then. "Well! they say so, and add, too, that
you are to be married as soon as the war is over." "'They' are paying
me an undeserved compliment," I returned. Where could such a report
have originated? Not certainly from him, and not, most assuredly, from
me. Where does Dame rumor spring from? He is a stranger here, and I
have never mentioned his name except to the Peirces, who would no more
report such a thing than I would myself. I won't mind it if it does not
reach his ears; but what assurance have I that it will not? That would
be unpleasant! Why can't "they say" let everybody settle their own
affairs?

Here comes Miriam after me! What a bore! What a bore! And she looks as
though it was a pleasure to go out! How I hate it!

Glancing up the page, the date strikes my eye. What tempted me to begin
it Friday? My dear Ada would shiver and declare the blank pages were
reserved for some very painful, awful, uncomfortable record, or that
"something" would happen before the end of it. Nothing very exciting
can happen, except the restoration of peace; and to bring that about, I
would make a vow to write only on Fridays.

Sunday, 16th.

Coming out of church this morning with