I have had several calls to-night, but could hardly hold my head up, and saw them depart with feelings of relief.
April 11.
I am unable to sit up much to-day, and I long for quiet to think over this great joy which has come to us, and try to realize that home is so near, and this summer will not be desecrated by the slaughter of men. The wounded are dying by scores. Oh! how sad it seems when they were so near the last.
April 13.
It is very pleasant, but I do not feel like enjoying the sunshine myself—and I am tired of this loud demonstration. Why cannot people be heart-glad without shouting, and drumming, and doing anything and everything to make a noise? And then they think I must want to talk of what lies in my mind all the time, and so throng my tent to say over the same things, and anticipate the homeward journey.
More men have died to-day, and our ranks keep full from the flowing stream off the battle-fields of a few days ago.
April 14.
The cold rain is dropping sadly to-day, and our joy is turned to grief, for the Nation's Chief lies low,—stricken down by the hand of the assassin, and the ship drifts towards the black rocks in danger of foundering. The flags are at half-mast, and any demonstration which made the first days ring with the
