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Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 7 (search)
bility that he might die. Oh, how I reproached myself for being so often disrespectful about his politics, and I solemnly vow I will never say anything to vex him again. He is the dearest, best old father that ever lived, and I have talked dreadfully to him sometimes, and now I am so sorry. He is much better to-day — entirely out of danger, the doctor says, but must not leave his bed. Mother stays in the room reading to him, so Mett and I have to take charge of the household. I feel like Atlas with the world on my shoulders. June 12, Monday We had crowds of callers all the morning, and some in the afternoon, which was rather inconvenient, as Metta and I were busy preparing for a little soiree dansante in compliment to our two Marys. Some of the guests were invited to tea, the others at a later hour, and refreshed between the dances with cake, fruit, and lemon punch. I was in the parlor from six to seven, helping Capt. Hudson with his little dancing circle, and Gen. Elzey