MY SOLDIER IN GRAY

So young and so handsome,

So brave and so neat,

From the crown of his head

To the soles of his feet.

.

He’s the light of my eyes,

As he marches away

To a place at the FRONT

With his comrades in gray.

.

Four years he has battled

For his Country’s rights,

Yet the bullets have spared him

In the fiercest of fights.

.

Some day he’ll come home,

I hope and I pray,

For ’tis Heaven on earth,

With My Soldier in Gray

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March 1st, 1866.—Little Diary, I have tried hard to tell you my secret but there are some things too sacred to write about. My Soldier in Gray has held by promise for many months and, before the year is out, we expect to be married. Father and Mother are willing, for they, too, like My Soldier in Gray but they insisted he should promise them never to take me away. I am the last one left at home and they cannot give me up. I love them so well and I am glad they want me to live with them always.

When the war was over, so many soldiers did not have anything to do, some even did not have a home to go to, but my soldier went immediately to work. His father has a large plantation and the overseer left as soon as the South surrendered; this Lake Lafayette plantation is five miles from Tallahassee, where the Eppes family live and his father is an old man and feeble; so he took right hold. He lives on the plantation and is managing splendidly, they say. I often hear his praises and I feel a glow of pride; but not even to you little friend, can I tell all My Soldier in Gray means to me. We met just after the Battle of Gettysburg and he has loved me ever since. Let me fasten this page down securely that none may see.

February 24.—Susie Daggett and I went to the hall this morning to clean up. We sent back the dishes, not one broken, and disposed of everything but the tables and stoves, which were to be taken away this afternoon. We feel quite satis?ed with the receipts so far, but the expenses will be considerable. In Ontario County Times of the following week we ?nd this card of thanks:

February 28.—The Fair for the bene?t of the Freedmen, held in the Town Hall on Thursday and Friday of last week was eminently successful, and the young ladies take this method of returning their sincere thanks to the people of Canandaigua and vicinity for their generous contributions and liberal patronage. It being the ?rst public enterprise in which the Society has ventured independently, the young ladies were somewhat fearful of the result, but having met with such generous responses from every quarter they feel assured that they need never again doubt of success in any similar attempt so long as Canandaigua contains so many large hearts and corresponding purses. But our village cannot have all the praise this time. The Society is particularly indebted to Mr. F. F. Thompson and Mr. S. D. Backus of New York City, for their very substantial aid, not only in gifts and unstinted patronage, but for their invaluable labor in the decoration of the hall and conduct of the Fair. But for them most of the manual labor would have fallen upon the ladies. The thanks of the Society are especially due, also, to those ladies who assisted personally with their superior knowledge and older experience. Also to Mr. W. P. Fiske for his valuable services as cashier, and to Messrs. Daggett, Chapin and Hills for services at the door; and to all the little boys and girls who helped in so many ways. The receipts amounted to about $490, and thanks to our cashier, the money is all good, and will soon be on its way carrying substantial visions of something to eat and to wear to at least a few of the poor Freedmen of the South.

By order of Society,

CARRIE C. RICHARDS, Pres’t.
EMMA H. WHEELER, Sec’y.

MR. EDITOR—I expected to see an account of the Young Ladies’ Fair in your last number, but only saw a very handsome acknowledgment by the ladies to the citizens. Your “local” must have been absent; and I beg the privilege in behalf of myself and many others of doing tardy justice to the successful efforts of the Aid Society at their debut February 22nd.

Gotham furnished an artist and an architect, and the Society did the rest. The decorations were in excellent taste, and so were the young ladies. The eatables were very toothsome. The skating pond was never in better condition. On entering the hall I paused ?rst before the table of toys, fancy work and perfumery. Here was the President, and I hope I shall be pardoned for saying that no President since the days of Washington can compare with the President of this Society. Then I visited a candy table, and hesitated a long time before deciding which I would rather eat, the delicacies that were sold, or the charming creatures who sold them. One delicious morsel, in a pink silk, was so tempting that I seriously contemplated eating her with a spoon—waterfall and all. [By the way, how do we know that the Romans wore waterfalls? Because Marc Antony, in his funeral oration on Mr. Caesar, exclaimed, “O water fall was there, my countrymen! ”] At this point my attention was attracted by a ?sh pond. I tried my luck, caught a whale, and seeing all my friends beginning to blubber, I determined to visit the old woman who lived in a shoe.—She was very glad to see me. I bought one of her children, which the Society can redeem for $1,000 in smoking caps. The fried oysters were delicious; a great many of the bivalves got into a stew, and I helped several of them out. Delicate ice cream, nicely “baked in cowld ovens,” was destroyed in immense quantities. I scream when I remember the plates full I devoured, and the number of bright women to whom I paid my devours. Beautiful cigar girls sold fragrant Havanas, and bit off the ends at ?ve cents apiece, extra. The fair post-mistress and her fair clerks, so fair that they were almost fairies, drove a very thriving business. It was altogether a “great moral show.”—Let no man say hereafter that the young ladies of Canandaigua are uneducated in all that makes women lovely and useful. Anna Dickinson has no mission to this town. The members of this Society have won the admiration of all their friends, and especially of the most devoted of their servants,                                                                 Q. E. D.

If I had written that article, I should have given the praise to Susie Daggett, for it belongs to her.

February 23.-—We took in two hundred dollars to-day at the fair. We wound up with an auction. We asked Mrs. George Willson if she could not write a poem expressing our thanks to Mr. Backus and she stepped aside for about five minutes and handed us the following lines which we sent to him. We think it is about the nicest thing in the whole fair.

“In ancient time the God of Wine
They crowned with vintage of the vine,
And sung his praise with song and glee
And all their best of minstrelsy.
The Backus whom we honor now
Would scorn to wreathe his generous brow
With heathen emblems—better he
Will love our gratitude to see
Expressed in all the happy faces
Assembled in these pleasant places.
May joy attend his footsteps here
And crown him in a brighter sphere.”

February 22.—At the hall all day. The fair opened at 2 P.M. We had quite a crowd in the evening and took in over three hundred dollars. Charlie Hills and Ellsworth Daggett stayed there all night to take care of the hall. We had a ?sh pond, a grab-bag and a post-of?ce. Anna says they had all the smart people in the post-of?ce to write the letters,—Mr. Morse, Miss Achert, Albert Granger and herself. Some one asked Albert  Granger if his law business was good and he said one man thronged into his of?ce one day.

February 21.—Been at the hall all day, trimming the room. Mr. Thompson and Mr. Backus came down and if they had not helped us we would not have done much. Mr. Backus put up all the principal drapery and made it look beautiful.

February 20.—Our society is going to hold a fair for the Freedmen, in the Town Hall. Susie Daggett and I have been there all day to see about the tables and stoves. We got Mrs. Binks to come and help us.

February 20th 1866.

       I read over my journal this morning and determined to finish it by making a note of the events of the Summer just passed. In April Arthur came home from the Army in North Carolina being sent to a hospital in Raleigh, and there being no room for him in the over crowded building, he was allowed to proceed home, to recruit, having had a severe attack of fever. In June Berkley & Harry arrived, the war being over, both Armys Lees & Johnstons having surrendered, & the Southern States overwhelmed, & conquered.

       The boys found us most happy to see them, but with an empty corn box, & no money, that could be so called; we sent about, & did as others, sold dresses and ornaments, and bought bacon, & corn, the servants continued with us & Patty who had lived with me for 36 years, and always behaved with the most examplary propriety, being a skillful seamstress, tailoress, Mantuamaker, & washer & ironer, proposed herself to work out; wash & iron for us & support her 2 children & herself, the children waiting on us. This she did faithfully until she left us the 10th January, being sent for by her son & Husband. When she could she sold articles for us, going at all times, & would take nothing for her trouble. She frequently brought me grist, Molasses, & flour, which she said was my share of what she made. The old Mauma has acted throughout with the most perfect consideration, she was terribly mortified by Elizabeth being a teacher, & Gabriella, & Charlotte keeping a little School. She said to the Kenedys, “You see dem going long so; but dey has plenty of gould and silver in de bank; and dey is such an old family.—”

       When Patty came to take leave of me she said “My dear Mistress, My dear Mistress”, with a great appearance of feeling, & brought a little oven in her hand, a present to the young ladies, they had often borrowed it from her during the war to bake cakes in their room. I asked her if she could not take it with her, she said “Oh, yes mam, but I always termined to give it to the young ladies when I went away,” and then she sent them a little clothes horse to dry their muslins on. I am thankful amid the wreck of all to have this example of affection and duty to always remember. 3 days before she went one of the servants asked her if she was going to bake for her journey, no she said I am going to wash my mistresses clothes, & so she did leaving every thing clean, tubs &c.

       The old Mauma is living at Mrs Hankels her own choice, she has behaved with uniform kindness. Always when she got any thing nice she brought it to Lotty or Ella and they took it from her & seemed to enjoy it coming out of her pocket, wrapped in a piece of clean cloth, or a scrap of brown paper. During the hardest part of the war she was living at Mrs Irwins, and as they kept a plentiful table, & fed her well for her services, she saved some of her dinner every day for Harry, & he with the apetite of a growing boy, scarcely satisfied, went every night to see her, & eat her present to him.—

       Lewis came home from Johnston’s Army, & Elizabeth had her long vacation of 3 Months, Lewis & Arthur gave us some anxiety from their dissipated tendencies. Harry returned to his School, at the College. Mr Carlise is an excellent teacher and we are most thankful he has this opportunity of getting a good education. Mrs Kenedys family were very hospitable, the boys and girls were frequently asked over there to spend the evening and Clementine & Mary established a Musical Club to meet every Tuesday evening at the house of the different members for the enjoyment of society, and the improvement of Music. This association was very pleasant and continued until the end of January.—

       Lewis paid attention to Miss Clementina, and after a time was accepted, & is now married & settled at Frog Level, near Greenville, being the only Dr in the place & having the only Drug Store.—She is a very nice girl, educated & pleasant looking and mannered, a member of the Episcopal Church, so is Lewis, and now through Gods mercy he is a temperance man & I trust will succeed.

       The wedding was a quiet morning affair, no bridesmaids, cake & wine, at the Grandmothers , and they set off early on Thursday morning for their future home, in a carriage, via Greenville, intended going the same day, 7th Feb 1866 but the coachman said it was a rainy day, & late, & he could only take them half way to a little way side inn.—

       Lewis had $3000 to commence his married life on. I gave it to him, but as the property in New York was in the law courts, under the Confiscation act & could not be used until released Lewis Morris lent him this sum.—and he seems to be acting wisely & well with it.—

       Mary Legge was married in October, quite a flourishing wedding and fixings, 9 bridesmaids & groomsmen. Col. Legge, the father of these young ladies, is a man of intemperate habits, and no morals, never pays any thing he owes, and does not regard his word. That such a person should occupy positions of trust, & honor in this place is a proof of the low state of morals. I am sorry Clementina was so sired, her Mother’s family are very nice people.—

       Mr Grimball went to Charleston with Lewis early in November. Arthur went down with 2 wagons in charge to Mr Wagner with articles of value & importance, and got $50 for his services which bought him some clothes. Berkley went by the cars.—

       Mr Grimball has lately got possession of his Plantations but is very much worried by his debts on them, & the accumulation of interest. The Morris’s refuse to take the places to liquidate the debt.—My Property in New York is by the laws of the State not amenable to the debts of my husband during my life, and I am permitted to make such disposition of it by deed, gift, or will, as I may see fit.—

       Should I die intestate he might be held entitled to a life estate in the property, to which extent his creditors might claim. I have written to request Harry to write a will for me giving Mr Grimball a suitable portion of my property for his life, & giving it at his death to the children. The rest equally divided among the children, all sharing alike.—

       My dear John has sent me a present of 2 hats, 1 a Jockey, the other a silk, fully trimmed, and 1 doz pair of stockings, 1 doz Pocket handkerchiefs, hoop, balmoral dress shawl, cuffs, collars, shawl, gloves. I am very much pleased at this, mark of his attachment. The two boxes, paper ones, came through Baltimore from a Miss Anna Wells to whom John is or was engaged to be married. They are in Charleston with Mr Grimball.—

       The Wilkinses are living at their house Lamson Street Charleston. Mr Grimball hires a room from them for $15 per Month. Arthur has gone up Cooper River to keep a Store with Prioleau & Alston, for the negroes, he sent to Berkley for Calico of a blue ground, with sprawling red flowers on it, as best suited to the taste of the Customers. They are paid in Rice, & A. sees visions of great success before him.—The end of the war found the old aristocracy reduced to many straights to get on and applying for, & gladly taking, very inferior places. Henry Manigault and his wife are Steward & Matron of the Alms House in Charleston. Williams Middleton is renting out his rooms, James Heyward’s wife & daughters & W. H. Heyward’s are taking in sewing. Mrs Allston the Gov’ widow, keeps a boarding school. The Miss Manigaults teach in Yorkville,—and all over the State people are making efforts to support themselves, and adorning their reduced circumstances by their elegance & education.

       Elizabeth has engaged with Miss Read for another year, and in consequence of this I suppose we will stay here another Summer.

       We have engaged a family of our own former slaves as our hired servants, a man Josey, his wife Amy & daughter Delia for $16 per Month. The man $10, the girl & woman $6, they do so far very well.—

February 18th, 1866.—Home again and I have talked myself hoarse telling the events of the three weeks I have been away. I am glad to get back. All say they have missed me, which is pleasant to hear. Eddie does not like to hear of the Union officers, he resents every mention of them. I told him of the Confederate uniform I made for Arvah; the brass buttons, the gold lace, for it was a captain’s uniform.

Arvah was so proud of it until the Yankees, who came to the house, made fun of him, calling him “Johnnie Reb.” He cried then and said, “Me don’t want to be a Donnie Web.”

Mrs. Reed told him to ask his mother for a piece of blue broadcloth and she would make him a Yankee uniform. She is a neat hand at work and by night the little suit was finished and Arvah was the centre of an admiring group. I took no notice of him but the little fellow is very fond of me and when he felt tired he tried to crawl up in my lap. I did not encourage this and he said, “Me wants to love ‘ou.”

“No,” I said. “I can’t love a Yankee.”

He burst into tears and could not be quieted.

“Take off dis ‘Ankee.” he cried, “I’se doin’ to be a Donnie Web.”

After that Mrs. Reed and I were rivals where Arvah was concerned. I took to slipping a piece of money in his hand when it was time to dress for the evening and then, in spite of Mrs. Reed’s pleading, he would wear the suit of gray; but just let me forget to have the bit of silver on time and Arvah appears in the parlor, a tiny figure in blue, where he is surrounded by his brother officers and, listens with willing ears to the many complimentary speeches made for his benefit.

Eddie thinks this is terrible. “I wouldn’t be a turncoat,” says this staunch young Southerner.

February 17th, 1866.—The house party is a thing of the past and will be long remembered. The Sprague girls, Maggie and Mary, (Tudie seems to be her name to her intimates), are such nice, pleasant young ladies. When I had known them a few days I said I would not have imagined they were from the North. They laughed and said they had been almost raised in the South. I like them very much.

Mrs. Reed, to quote from my black mammy, “Ain’t my sort,” and I have never been thrown with one of her kind before. Mrs. Miller is a sweet old lady, a South Carolinian by birth, who married a Northern man. Her invalid son, Lieutenant Charles Miller, excited my pity to such an extent that I have tried to forget his blue uniform and remember only that he suffers. I think the almost constant contact with the sick and wounded soldiers in our own army has automatically made me tender of those who are ill. His mother watches over him day and night. Aunt Sue is just as good to them both as if they were kinsfolk and, though Uncle Arvah is such a busy man, he does all he can to lighten her burden. She was very glad to have a little help in filling in his lonely hours.

I look at it in this way; I am trying to be of some assistance to dear aunt Sue and if she wants me to read to and talk to, this poor, sick boy, it is my duty to do it. So, for a while, each morning, after his breakfast tray has been brought down stairs, I relieve his mother and, while I read some entertaining book, or glean the freshest news from the papers, she walks out among the flowers, or chats with the other guests.

Our own boys tease me about my “sick Yankee,” but I think it is right or I would not do it. He, poor fellow, is grateful; I told him doctors did not know everything, even the wisest of them. I told him I was supposed to have consumption, of which Drs. Clark and Geddings were quite positive, but I would not listen to them. My doctor Brother did not agree with them and he says, “help yourself to get well; do not think of the disease but fill your mind with bright thoughts and, if possible find something for your hands to do; live in the open and hope, Hope, HOPE.”

He was much interested in this and, the next day, instead of lying on the couch in his mother’s room, as he had done, he came down stairs, with Frank and Jack assisting him, and sat in the large cushioned rocker in the hall.

The young people in the house came about his chair and Aunt Sue said he was holding a reception. He enjoyed it until he got tired, and his mother was delighted that he had made the effort. Poor boy! He has hemorrhages but I used to have them, too, and I have quite made up my mind to live to be a hundred; if I can. [continue reading…]

1866 February 13.—Our brother James was married to-day to Louise Livingston James of New York City.

January 29th, 1866.—Sister Mag and her family are living with us now, Brother Amos has broken up his plantation in Georgia. He can do nothing there without labor and all the negroes have left that section of country.

We have a pretty good cook and last night Brother Amos brought in a servant he had hired. It seems that some of the colored troops have been disbanded and this one was the drum major (whatever that may be). He is very small, black and wiry and active as a cat. He says he belonged to a maiden lady in Virginia and she trained him for dining room work, so we have put him at the same thing and so far he is acquitting himself very well. Josie and I clean up the house and it is a little easier every day. It is funny to ask a little darky in blue uniform to go to the kitchen for hot biscuits.

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.

January 28th, 1866.—Aunt Sue spent yesterday with us. She is going to have a house-party and says she must have me. I told her I could not be spared but my vanity received a blow, for all at the table insisted that I must go. I love aunt Sue and it is always a pleasure to be with her and then, too, I feel flattered that she should think I am capable of helping her to entertain.

Mother says I need not trouble about clothes, Father has given aunt Sue carte blanche, where I am concerned and Mrs. Brookes lives on Goodwood plantation and she can do any sewing I may need. Isn’t it delightful to be cared for in that manner?

The house-party will consist of two daughters of General Sprague of the U. S. A. It seems he is an old friend of the family; Mrs. Harrison Reed, Mrs. Miller and her invalid son, Charles, who is a lieutenant in this same U. S. A., also Eliza Meginniss and Josie Evans. Mother is so kind as to give Josie two weeks holiday that she may make one of the party. We will have a delightful time, I am sure.

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.

January 9th, 1866.—Aunt Sue’s servants left, too, that is, all but Aunt Susan and Aunt Emily. They are both fine cooks and Aunt Emily’s husband, who has been free all his life, stays at Goodwood and he is “doing the chores,” as Charley says. Uncle Arvah has engaged a cook for her, as Aunt Susan cannot stand the fire long at a time. He says he can find a cook for us in the wilds of Wakulla County where Aunt Sue’s came from. They are white women and sisters, not entirely unencumbered as each has a child four or five years of age, but Mother is glad to get any help she can. A letter from Brother Amos this morning, says he and Sister Mag and the children are coming back to Florida to live. I am so glad, it has been hard to have her so far away, especially since her health has been so bad. Cousin Sallie Bradford sent Father such a fine loaf of bread; it is a kind he is particularly fond of, “salt rising” she calls it. They must have

“Heard her cry in the land of pie.”

for cousin Peggy sent a beautiful sponge cake this afternoon, and Hattie sent a leg of mutton beautifully browned all ready to be eaten. Aren’t they just too good?

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.

January 8th, 1866.—This is Aunt Sue’s birthday and she has invited us to spend it with her. We accepted with pleasure. It is the first time I can remember that she did not spend her birthday with us, but we have no servants. Mrs. James sends milk for Father every night and morning. She, (fortunate woman) can milk her own cow. I fear I could never learn to do that. You see I am so terribly afraid of Bossy. She looks like a dreadful monster to me. I must stop now and dress for Goodwood.

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.

January 2nd, 1866.—1 have slept well and I feel decidedly better. I am not going to fret because the negroes are gone, nor will I bother my brains as to their whereabouts. I am going to learn to do all these things that need doing and bye and bye I shall do them well. I baked some corn bread for breakfast; batter bread, it was, with eggs and milk. We had plenty of butter to eat with it, then I boiled some eggs and father made the coffee, drip coffee is very little trouble to make when you have boiling water and I put a kettle on the fire the first thing when the fire was made.

This, I find is my stumbling block, I am the poorest hand at making a fire. “Make a note of that and improve,” said I to myself. I cannot milk a cow, neither can anyone else in the house. I think I shall have to hunt me a good milker and get married. Father just lives on milk. Boiled eggs for dinner again and more batter bread. The menu in this house seems to know no change. Supper is yet to come. What shall it be?

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.

January 1st, 1866.—A New Year but a Happy New Year? No, indeed. We got up this morning to find ourselves the only occupants of Pine Hill plantation. It was a clean sweep, all were gone. Nobody to get breakfast; nobody to clean up the house; no maids to look after the wants of “milady;” no butler to serve the meals; no carriage-driver if we should care to ride. Not a servant, not one and we unused to work.

It is night now. Aunt Robinson taught me to make up beds long ago, when she took me to sleep in her room, so we have each of us a neat bed to rest in. Mother said she could mix muffins if somebody would bake them. Father offered to make the coffee, that being his specialty and Mattie said she would eat some when it was done and John Branch, who had spent the night here, stretched himself and said, “I’ll saddle the pony and go to town.” We did not ask him to stay, though I thought he might have brought in some wood as it was low in the wood-boxes.

I am tired—tired tonight, will all the days of the year be like this one? What are we going to do without the negroes? Will we have to do these manifold duties for ourselves? Or can we hire white servants as they do at the North? I wonder where the negroes have gone, and why did they not tell us they were going? Life is a puzzle sometimes.

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.

December 27th, 1865.—Christmas has passed and gone. I shall not try to tell of it; there is too much of pain and sorrow; too much of loss and change to wish to place it on record. No matter how hard we try to be cheerful, the heavy heart is there just the same. We did not invite company for Christmas; of course, our own family were here. Buddy and his wife and children, Brother Junius and Sister Mag and Brother Amos and the dear little ones. They were the only ones who enjoyed Christmas, though all tried to enter into the spirit of the day.

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.

December 25, 1865.

Sadai woke very early and crept out of bed to her stocking. Seeing it well filled she soon had a light and eight little negroes around her, gazing upon the treasures. Everything opened that could be divided was shared with them. ‘T is the last Christmas, probably, that we shall be together, freedmen! Now you will, I trust, have your own homes, and be joyful under your own vine and fig tree, with none to molest or make afraid.

THE END

December 24, 1865.

It has been many months since I wrote in this journal, and many things of interest have occurred. But above all I give thanks to God for His goodness in preserving my life and so much of my property for me. My freedmen have been with me and have worked for one-sixth of my crop.

This is a very rainy, unpleasant day. How many poor freedmen are suffering! Thousands of them must be exposed to the pitiless rain! Oh, that everybody would do right, and there would not be so much suffering in the world! Sadai and I are all alone in the house. We have been reading, talking, and thus spending the hours until she went to bed, that I might play Santa Claus. Her stocking hangs invitingly in the corner. Happy child and childhood, that can be so easily made content!

December 19th, 1865.—The party was splendid in spite of the —, there now, I came near writing Yankees, and I promised myself I would never say that again, after General Foster’s kindness. General Foster sent his band to play for us to dance. I had so many of my old friends around, I had not a single vacant space on my card but I saw Sister Mart dancing with Major Conant.

I know I will be lonely enough after Sister Mart has really gone. I am the only one left to Father and Mother. Josie Evans is Mattie’s governess this winter, so I still have company at home. I do not like to entertain young gentlemen by myself, I am afraid they will find it stupid, but Josie is very bright and entertaining. Then, too, she sings delightfully. She was here tonight. She was one of the bridesmaids so she just had to be present, school or no school.

Father is nearly well again and he gave the bride away. We had been afraid he would not be well enough and he looked so handsome in his new dress suit ordered from New York for the occasion. Mother had a new silk, too, and the New York dressmaker fitted her beautifully. She had not made a dress for Mother for more than four years yet she had not forgotten how.

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.

December 18th, 1865.—I thought I would be lonely beyond description when Sister Mart got married. It happened five days ago and I have not had time even to think. Weddings, like funerals, call together kindred and friends.

There was a big wedding; the bride was beautiful; friends flocked from far and near to Pine Hill; the supper was all a supper should be and champagne flowed like water. Again I say, at my wedding there shall be nothing but “Adam’s ale” to drink.

The next night Sallie Ward was married and I was a bridesmaid at her wedding too. It was a church affair, the bridal party, that is the attendants, went to the church in an omnibus. Did you ever hear of such a thing? The bride and the groom went in a carriage but I am sure we had the most fun.

I have been to a big entertainment of some kind every night since Sister Mart was married except the 17th, which was Sunday. Doesn’t the Bible tell us we must rest on Sunday?

Tonight Aunt Sue is giving a large party; “the gem of the season,” we say, for everybody knows the entertainments at Goodwood are not quite equalled anywhere else. There is one thing about this particular party that I dread; uncle Arvah has invited General Foster and his family and the officers in his command. I see Uncle Arvah’s side and he is right, but it will be painful to meet our conquerors. So far I have met only one and I cannot hope they will all be like him. To meet these blue-coats socially! Will I have the strength of mind to do it? Not much time for you my diary.

It is not difficult to get a dress now, but there are a thousand and one things to get through before tonight. Aunt Sue likes to have help in arranging flowers in the different rooms and the table in the dining room, which she has already dressed, is a dream of beauty.

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.

December 11.—I have been down town buying material for garments for our Home Missionary family which we are to make in our society. Anna and I were cutting them out and basting them ready for sewing, and grandmother told us to save all the basting threads when we were through with them and tie them and wind them on a spool for use another time. Anna, who says she never wants to begin anything that she cannot finish in 15 minutes, felt rather tired at the prospect of this unexpected task and asked Grandmother how she happened to contract such economical ideas. Grandmother told her that if she and Grandfather had been wasteful in their younger days, we would not have any silk dresses to wear now. Anna said if that was the case she was glad that Grandmother saved the basting thread!

December 8.—Yesterday was Thanksgiving day. I do not remember that it was ever observed in December before. President Johnson appointed it as a day of national thanksgiving for our many blessings as a people, and Governor Fenton and several governors of other states have issued proclamations in accordance with the President’s recommendation. The weather was very unpleasant, but we attended the union thanksgiving service held in our church. The choir sang America for the Opening piece. Dr. Daggett read Miriam’s song of praise: “The Lord hath triumphed gloriously, the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.” Then he offered one of his most eloquent and fervent prayers, in which the returned soldiers, many of whom are in broken health or maimed for life, in consequence of their devotion and loyalty to their country, were tenderly remembered. His text was from the 126th Psalm, “The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad.” It was one of his best sermons. He mentioned three things in particular which the Lord has done for us, whereof we are glad: First, that the war has closed; second, that the Union is preserved; third, for the abolition of slavery. After the sermon, a collection was taken for the poor, and Dr. A. D. Eddy, who was present, offered prayer. The choir sang an anthem which they had especially prepared for the occasion, and then all joined in the doxology. Uncle Thomas Beals’ family of four united with our three at Thanksgiving dinner. Uncle sent to New York for the oysters, and a famous big turkey, with all the usual accompaniments, made us a ?ne repast. Anna and Ritie Tyler are reading together Irving’s Life of Washington, two afternoons each week. I wonder how long they will keep it up.

November 15th, 1865.—Of course, I have always known that it is the custom in the South for girls, when they put up their hair and put on long dresses, to be addressed by gentlemen, not related, by the title of “Miss.” I knew this but I never thought of this formality coming my way. This morning, when I appeared on the street, in a sweeping train, etc., etc., and met my dear old friend, Mr. Mariano Papy, I was really shocked to have him bow formally and address little me as “Miss Susie.” He then went on to pay some graceful compliments, which is just a way he has, but I could not help protesting against the change. Mr. Papy was Grandpa’s private secretary and was living at Live Oak, when I was born. He has carried me in his arms in baby days and sung me to sleep. I meet him nearly every time I am in town and he has never called me anything but “Susie.”

I called on Mrs. Papy before leaving town and confided my hurt feelings to her, this is what she said:

“Our little girl should not have grown up if she feels this way; there is nothing else to be done; you have and always will have, a warm corner, all your own, in Mr. Papy’s heart, but, my dear child, conventionalities must be observed as the good of society demands it.”

Perhaps she is right but I do hope Mr. Blake will not feel called upon to follow suit. When I told Father and Mother about Mr. Papy, Mother said it was all as it should be and father laughed and said, “We must all pay the penalty of mature age.”

I do not believe my family will ever think of me as anything but a baby.

Susan Bradford is 19 years old when this entry was made.