Diary of a Southern Refugee, Judith White McGuire.

November 9.—We are now quite comfortably fixed, in what was once my mother’s chamber, and most unexpectedly we have a carpet. The other day, while entertaining some friends, in this chamber by night, dining-room by day, and parlour ever and anon, Mrs. Secretary Mallory walked in, who, like ourselves, has had many ups-and-downs during the Confederacy, and therefore her kind heart knows exactly how to sympathize with others. While talking away, she suddenly observed that there was no carpet on the floor, and exclaimed, “Mrs. ––, you have no carpet! My boxes have just come from Montgomery, where I left them two years ago, filled with carpets and bedding. I have five, and I will lend you one. Don’t say a word; I couldn’t be comfortable, and think of you with this bare floor. Mr. ––, is too delicate for it, and you are both too old to begin now on an uncarpeted room.” An hour after she left us a servant came with the carpet, which was soon tacked down, and gives a home-like, comfortable air to the room.