them! And if we decline their visits, they can insult
us under the plea of a prior affront. Oh! Gibbes! George! Jimmy! never
did we need your protection as sorely as now. And not to know even
whether you are alive! When Charlie joins the army, we will be
defenseless, indeed. Come to my bosom, O my discarded carving-knife,
laid aside under the impression that these men were gentlemen. We will
be close friends once more. And if you must have a sheath, perhaps I
may find one for you in the heart of the first man who attempts to
Butlerize me. I never dreamed of kissing any man save my father and
brothers. And why any one should care to kiss any one else, I fail to
understand. And I do not propose to learn to make exceptions.

Still no word from the boys. We hear that Norfolk has been evacuated;
but no details. George was there. Gibbes is wherever Johnston is,
presumably on the Rappahannock; but it is more than six weeks since we
have heard from either of them, and all communication is cut off.

May 21st.

I have had such a search for shoes this week that I am disgusted with
shopping. I am triumphant now, for after traversing the town in every
direction and finding nothing, I finally discovered a pair of _boots_
just made for a little negro to go fishing with, and only an inch and a
half too long for me, besides being unbendable; but I seized them with
avidity, and the little negro would have been outbid if I had not soon
after discovered a pair more seemly, if not more serviceable, which I
took without further difficulty. Behold my tender feet cased in
crocodile skin, patent-leather tipped, low-quarter boy's shoes, No. 2!
"What a fall was there, my country," from my pretty English glove-kid,
to sabots made of some animal closely connected with the hippopotamus!
_A dernier ressort, vraiment!_ for my choice was that, or cooling my
feet on the burning pavement _au naturel_; I who have such a terror of
any one seeing my naked foot! And this is thanks to war and blockade!
Not a decent shoe in the whole community! _N'importe!_ "Better days are
coming, we'll all"--have shoes--after a while--perhaps! Why did not
Mark Tapley leave me a song calculated to keep the spirits up, under
depressing circumstances? I need one very much, and have nothing more
suggestive than the old Methodist hymn, "Better days are coming, we'll
all go right," which I shout so constantly, as our pro