Diary of a Southern Refugee, Judith White McGuire.

13th.—Still in Richmond, nursing B. He was wounded this day two months ago; but such fluctuations I have never witnessed in any case. We have more hope now, because his appetite has returned. I sent over to market this morning for partridges and eggs for him, and gave 75 cents apiece for the one, and $1.50 per dozen for the other. I am afraid that our currency is rapidly depreciating, and the time is approaching when, as in the old Revolution, a man had to give $300 for a breakfast. Mrs. P. came in to scold me for my breach of good manners in buying any thing in her house. I confessed myself ashamed of it, but that I would be more ashamed to disturb her whenever B’s capricious appetite required indulgence. I have never seen more overflowing hospitality than that of this household. Many sick men are constantly refreshed from the bounties of the table; and supplies from the larder seem to be at the command of every soldier. One of the elegant parlours is still in the occupancy of the wounded soldier brought here with B.; his wound was considered slight, but he suffers excessively from nervous debility, and is still unfit for service. I did feel uncomfortable that we should give Mrs. P. so much trouble, until she told me that, having no sons old enough for service, and her husband being unable to serve the country personally, except as a member of the “Ambulance Committee,” they had determined that their house should be at the service of the soldiers. Last summer, during the campaigns around Richmond, they took in seven wounded men, some of whom had to be nursed for months.