October 5th, 1866.—My dress has been bought and Mrs. Kinnebrough says she will have all my things ready; the dress is of plain white silk, to be trimmed with pearl bandings and illusion. With it I am to wear Sister Mag’s lovely set of pearls. I like time-honored customs, so have ordered a wreath and corsage bouquet of orange blossoms from Paris. They will come on the next steamer. There is one time-honored custom, however, which will not be observed. There is to be nothing intoxicating served to the guests at my wedding. No wife nor mother shall look back with mortification to my wedding night. Another custom also has been prohibited by Mother’s orders: She has let all our friends know that “no wedding presents must be sent.” She says the South is impoverished, there are few who can afford to give a handsome gift and yet almost every one will spend that which they can ill-afford, rather than be outdone in generous giving. I am well satisfied with this arrangement. I would not like to think our friends had deprived themselves to give to us. Mother is quite right.
We have company most of the time these days, coming and going, day by day. Sometimes I think I would like the quiet home life just now.
