ut food and clothing you shall have in abundance for
them when they arrive." God bless him for his kindness!

O dear, noble men! I am afraid to meet them; I should do something
foolish; best take my cry out in private now. May the Lord look down in
pity on us! Port Hudson does not matter so much; but these brave, noble
creatures! The "Era" says they had devoured their last mule before they
surrendered.

Saturday, July 10th, 10 o'clock P.M.

I preach patience; but how about practice? I am exasperated! there is
the simple fact. And is it not enough? What a scene I have just
witnessed! A motley crew of thousands of low people of all colors
parading the streets with flags, torches, music, and all other
accompaniments, shouting, screaming, exulting over the fall of Port
Hudson and Vicksburg. The "Era" will call it an enthusiastic
demonstration of the loyal citizens of the city; we who saw it from
upper balconies know of what rank these "citizens" were. We saw crowds
of soldiers mixed up with the lowest rabble in the town, workingmen in
dirty clothes, newsboys, ragged children, negroes, and even _women_
walking in the procession, while swarms of negroes and low white women
elbowed each other in a dense mass on the pavement. To see such
creatures exulting over our misfortune was enough to make one scream
with rage. One of their dozen transparencies was inscribed with "A dead
Confederacy." Fools! The flames are smouldering! They will burst out
presently and consume you! More than half, much more, were negroes. As
they passed here they raised a yell of "Down with the rebels!" that
made us gnash our teeth in silence. The Devil possessed me. "O Miriam,
help me pray the dear Lord that their flag may burn!" I whispered as
the torches danced around it. And we did pray earnestly--so earnestly
that Miriam's eyes were tightly screwed up; but it must have been a
wicked prayer, for it was not answered.

Dr. S---- has out a magnificent display of black cotton grammatically
inscribed with "Port Hudson and Vicksburg _is_ ours," garnished with a
luminous row of tapers, and, drunk on two bits' worth of lager beer, he
has been shrieking out all Union songs he can think of with his horrid
children until my tympanum is perfectly cracked. Miriam wants to offer
him an extra bottle of lager for the two places of which he claims the
monopoly. He would sell his creed for less. Miriam is dying to ask him
what he has