burn Clinton as soon as they reach it, in revenge
for the looms that were carried from Baton Rouge there, and which can
soon be put in working order to supply our soldiers, negroes, and
ourselves with necessary clothing. Of two evils, if Baton Rouge is to
be overrun by Yankees, and Clinton burned, I would rather await them at
home.

Sunday, November 2d.

Yesterday was a day of novel sensations to me. First came a letter from
mother announcing her determination to return home, and telling us to
be ready next week. Poor mother! she wrote drearily enough of the
hardships we would be obliged to undergo in the dismantled house, and
of the new experience that lay before us; but _n'importe_! I am ready
to follow her to Yankeeland, or any other place she chooses to go. It
is selfish for me to be so happy here while she leads such a
distasteful life in Clinton. In her postscript, though, she said she
would wait a few days longer to see about the grand battle which is
supposed to be impending; so our stay will be indefinitely prolonged.
How thankful I am that we will really get back, though! I hardly
believe it possible, however; it is too good to be believed.

The nightmare of a probable stay in Clinton being removed, I got in
what the boys call a "perfect gale," and sang all my old songs with a
greater relish than I have experienced for many a long month. My heart
was open to every one. So forgiving and amiable did I feel that I went
downstairs to see Will Carter! I made him so angry last Tuesday that he
went home in a fit of sullen rage. It seems that some time ago, some
one, he said, told him such a joke on me that he had laughed all night
at it. Mortified beyond all expression at the thought of having had my
name mentioned between two men, I, who have thus far fancied myself
secure from all remarks good, bad, or indifferent (of men), I refused
to have anything to say to him until he should either explain me the
joke, or, in case it was not fit to be repeated to me, until he
apologized for the insult. He took two minutes to make up a lie. This
was the joke, he said. Our _milkman_ had said that that Sarah Morgan
was the proudest girl he ever saw; that she walked the streets as
though the earth was not good enough for her. My milkman making his
remarks! I confess I was perfectly aghast with surprise, and did not
conceal my contempt for the remark, or his authority either. But