_Feb. 24, 1861_.--The toil of the week has ended. Nearly a month has
passed since I wrote here. Events have crowded upon one another. A
lowering sky closes in upon the gloomy evening, and a moaning wind is
sobbing in every key. They seem in keeping with the national sorrow, and
in lieu of other sympathy I am glad to have that of Nature to-night. On
the 4th the cannon boomed in honor of Jefferson Davis's election, and day
before yesterday Washington's Birthday was made the occasion of another
grand display and illumination, in honor of the birth of a new nation
and the breaking of that Union which he labored to cement. We drove
to the racecourse to see the review of troops. A flag was presented
to the Washington Artillery by ladies. Senator Judah Benjamin made an
impassioned speech. The banner was orange satin on one side, crimson
silk on the other, the pelican and brood embroidered in pale green
and gold. Silver crossed cannon surmounted it, orange-colored fringe
surrounded it, and crimson tassels drooped from it. It was a brilliant,
unreal scene; with military bands clashing triumphant music, elegant
vehicles, high-stepping horses, and lovely women richly appareled.
Wedding cards have been pouring in till the contagion has reached us;
Edith will be married next Thursday. The wedding dress is being
fashioned, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen have arrived. Edith has
requested me to be special mistress of ceremonies on Thursday evening, and
I have told this terrible little rebel, who talks nothing but blood and
thunder, yet faints at the sight of a worm, that if I fill that office no
one shall mention war or politics during the whole evening, on pain of
expulsion. The clock points to ten. I must lay the pen aside.
_March 10, 1861._--The excitement in this house has risen to fever heat
during the past week. The four gentlemen have each a different plan for
saving the country, and now that the bridal bouquets have faded, the three
ladies have again turned to public affairs; Lincoln's inauguration and the
story of the disguise in which he traveled to Washington is a never-ending
source of gossip. The family board being the common forum, each gentleman
as he appears first unloads his pockets of papers from all the Southern
States, and then his overflowing heart to his eager female listeners, who
in turn relate, inquire, sympathize, or cheer. If I dare express a doubt
that the path to victory will be a flowery one, eyes flash, cheeks burn,
and tongues clatter, till all are checked up suddenly by a warning rap for
"Order, order!" from the amiable lady presiding. Thus we swallow politics
with every meal. We take a mouthful and read a telegram, one eye on table,
the other on the paper. One must be made of cool stuff to keep calm and
collected. I say but little. There is one great comfort; this war fever
has banished small talk. The black servants move about quietly, never
seeming to notice that this is all about them.
"How can you speak so plainly before them?" I say.
"Why, what matter? They know that we shall keep the whip-handle."
_April 13, 1861._--More than a month has passed since the last date here.
This afternoon I was seated on the floor covered with loveliest flowers,
arranging a floral offering for the fair, when the gentlemen arrived (and
with papers bearing the news of the fall of Fort Sumter, which, at her
request, I read to Mrs. F.).
_April 20._--The last few days have glided away in a halo of beauty. I
can't remember such a lovely spring ever before. But nobody has time or
will to enjoy it. War, war! is the one idea. The children play only with
toy cannons and soldiers; the oldest inhabitant goes by every day with his
rifle to practice; the public squares are full of companies drilling, and
are now the fashionable resorts. We have been told that it is best for
women to learn how to shoot too, so as to protect themselves when the men
have all gone to battle. Every evening after dinner we adjourn to the back
lot and fire at a target with pistols.
Yesterday I dined at Uncle Ralph's. Some members of the bar were present
and were jubilant about their brand-new Confederacy. It would soon be the
grandest government ever known. Uncle Ralph said solemnly, "No, gentlemen;
the day we seceded the star of our glory set." The words sunk into my mind
like a knell, and made me wonder at the mind that could recognize that
and yet adhere to the doctrine of secession.
In the evening I attended a farewell gathering at a friend's whose
brothers are to leave this week for Richmond. There was music. No minor
chord was permitted.