Sunday, December 18th.—Raining.
The old dull sound of bombs down the river. Nothing further from Savannah. It is now believed that the raiders in Western Virginia did not attack Saltville, and that the works are safe. For two days the speculators have been buying salt, and have put up the price to $1.50 per pound. I hope they will be losers. The State distributes salt to-morrow: ten pounds to each member of a family, at 20 cents per pound.
The President’s malady is said to be neuralgia in the head—an evanescent affliction, and by no means considered dangerous. At least such is the experience in my family.
It was amusing, however, to observe the change of manner of the Secretaries and of heads of bureaus toward Vice-President Stephens, when it was feared the President was in extremis. Mr. Hunter, fat as he is, flew about right briskly.
If Savannah falls, our currency will experience another depreciation, and the croaking reconstructionists will be bolder.
The members of the Virginia Assembly propose paying themselves $50 per day!
Congress has not yet passed the act increasing the compensation of members.
