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Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 3 (search)
I am a special favorite of Uncle Wally's. We have a chat every morning when he passes through the back yard on his way to the cowpen. The other day he said to me: You is de puttiest lady ever I seed; you looks jes' lack one er dese heer alablastered dolls. We walked to the bluff on the river bank, after leaving the quarter, and sat there a long time talking. Spring is here in earnest. The yellow jessamines are bursting into bloom, and the air is fragrant with the wild crab apples. March 1, Wednesday The weather has been so bad that we are thrown upon our own resources for amusement. Metta and Mecca play cards and backgammon most of the time, and Albert Bacon comes almost every day on some pretense or other. One very dark night when he was here, we told ghost stories till we frightened ourselves half to death, and had to beg him to stay all night to keep the bogies off. Mett and I take long tramps in the afternoons through mist and mud, but Mec does not like to walk. Th