Memphis, Tuesday, Feb. 17. Wet and cloudy. A dismal and dreary day for me. Kept inside nearly all day. Burnt up all my letters which by this time had accumulated, so as to encroach too much on the room of my crowded valise. It was a difficult task. They seemed to be a connecting link between me and the dear ones. I read the anxious words over, and then with a sigh consigned them to the flames. Burnt up 17 of T. L.’s, 18 of J. L.’s, 11 of M. L.’s and 15 from Albion.
