Diary of a Southern Refugee, Judith White McGuire.

December 10.—Just returned from a visit of a week to my old friend Mrs. C. Her home in Richmond is the very: picture of comfort and hospitality; having wealth, she uses it freely, in these troublous times, for the comfort of others. If all hearts were as large as hers, there would be no refugees in garrets and cellars. I was touched by her attention to Mr. ––, whom she had always seen engaged in his duties as a minister of the Gospel. She seemed to think it a kind of sacrilege to see him employed from nine until four o’clock in the duties of his secular office, and “to think of his reverend and hoary head bending over a clerk’s desk;” she would say : “Oh, what awful times!” I told her that she must not think of it in that light; that he had been greatly blessed to get the office, which supported us so much better than many other refugees. While talking this way, she would be suiting the action to the word, by rolling up a most delightful chair to the fire, placing a small table before it, ready for some nice refreshment when he returned. It is trying to see him work so hard for our support, in his delicate state of health. The girls and myself are very anxious to get work from Government, signing notes, copying—any thing to assist in supporting ourselves; but we have tried in vain, and I suppose it is right, for there are so many widows and orphans who have a much higher claim to any thing that Government can do for them. We have heard heavy firing to-day. The car passengers report that there is skirmishing near Port Royal.