o were not killed?
Oh, no! let me see all the danger, and the way it is coming, at once.
To-morrow,--or day after,--in case no unexpected little incident occurs
in the interval, I purpose going to New Orleans, taking father's papers
and part of Miriam's and mother's valuables for safe-keeping. I hate to
go, but they all think I should, as it will be one less to look after
if we are shelled--which I doubt. I don't know that I require _much_
protection, but I might as well be agreeable and go. Ouf! how I will
grow homesick, before I am out of sight!

Midnight.

Here we go, sure enough. At precisely eleven o'clock, while we were
enjoying our first dreams, we were startled by the long roll which was
beat half a square below us. At first I only repeated "The roll of the
drum," without an idea connected with it; but hearing the soldiers
running, in another instant I was up, and was putting on my stockings
when Miriam ran in, in her nightgown. The children were roused and
dressed quickly, and it did not take us many instants to prepare,--the
report of two shots, and the tramp of soldiers, cries of
"Double-quick," and sound as of cannon moving, rather hastening our
movements. Armoirs, bureaus, and everything else were thrown open, and
Miriam and I hastily packed our sacks with any articles that came to
hand, having previously taken the precaution to put on everything fresh
from the armoir. We have saved what we can; but I find myself obliged
to leave one of my new muslins I had just finished, as it occupied more
room than I can afford, the body of my lovely lilac, and my beauteous
white mull. But then, I have saved eight half-made linen chemises! that
will be better than the outward show.

Here comes an alarm of fire--at least a dreadful odor of burning cotton
which has set everybody wild with fear that conflagration is to be
added to these horrors. The cavalry swept past on their way to the
river ten minutes ago, and here comes the news that the gunboats are
drawing up their anchors and making ready. Well! here an hour has
passed; suppose they do not come after all? I have been watching two
sentinels at the corner, who are singing and dancing in the gayest way.
One reminds me of Gibbes; I have seen him dance that way often. I was
glad to see a good-humored man again. I wish I was in bed. I am only
sitting up to satisfy my conscience, for I have long since ceased to