contradict the rumor of Ruggles having occupied it already. I wish
mother would go. I can see no difference there or here, except that
there, we will be safe, for a while at least....

I grow desperate when I read these Northern papers reviling and abusing
us, reproaching us for being broken and dispersed, taunting us with
their victories, sparing no humiliating name in speaking of us, and
laughing as to what "we'll see" when we vile rebels are "driven out of
Virginia, and the glorious Union firmly established." I can't bear
these taunts! I grow sick to read these vile, insulting papers that
seem written expressly to goad us into madness!... There must be many
humane, reasonable men in the North; can they not teach their editors
decency in this their hour of triumph?

[Illustration: JAMES MORRIS MORGAN]

July 13th, Sunday.

A profitable way to spend such a day! Being forced to dispense with
church-going, I have occupied myself in reading a great deal, and
writing a little, which latter duty is a favorite task of mine after
church on Sundays. But this evening, the mosquitoes are so savage that
writing became impossible, until Miriam and I instituted a grand
extermination process, which we partly accomplished by extraordinary
efforts. She lay on the bed with the bar half-drawn over her, and
half-looped up, while I was commissioned to fan the wretches from all
corners into the pen. It was rather fatiguing, and in spite of the
numbers slain, hardly recompensed me for the trouble of hunting them
around the room; but still, Miriam says exercise is good for me, and
she ought to know.

I have been reading that old disguster, Boswell. Bah! I have no
patience with the toady! I suppose "my mind is not yet thoroughly
impregnated with the Johnsonian ether," and that is the reason why I
cannot appreciate him, or his work. I admire him for his patience and
minuteness in compiling such trivial details. He must have been an
amiable man, to bear Johnson's brutal, ill-humored remarks; but seems
to me if I had not spirit enough to resent the indignity, I would at
least not publish it to the world! Briefly, my opinion, which this book
has only tended to confirm, is that Boswell was a vain, conceited prig,
a fool of a jackanape, an insupportable sycophant, a--whatever mean
thing you please; there is no word small enough to suit him. As to
Johnson, he is a surly old bear; in short, an