Judith White McGuire, Diary of a southern refugee during the war, by a lady of Virginia

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[301] seen. There were only two rooms, and though small, and rather dark, yet persons whose shelter was likely to be the “blue vault of heaven” could not be very particular. The price, too, was exorbitant, but with a little more self-denial it might be paid. The next inquiry was about kitchen, servant's room and coal-house; but we got no further than the answer about the kitchen. The lady said there was no kitchen that we could possibly use; her stove was small, and she required it all; we must either be supplied from a restaurant, or do our own cooking in one of the rooms. As neither plan was to be thought of, we ended the parley. A part of a kitchen is indispensable, though perhaps the most annoying thing to which refugees are subjected. The mistress is generally polite enough, but save me from the selfsufficient cook. “I would like to oblige you, madam, but you can't have loaf-bread to-morrow morning, because my mistress has ordered loaf-bread and rolls, and our stove is small;” or, “No, madam, you can't ‘ bile’ a ham, nor nothing else to-day, because it is our washing-day;” or, “No, ma'am, you can't have biscuits for tea, because the stove is cold, and I've got no time to heat it.” So that we must either submit, or go to the mistress for redress, and probably find none, and thus run the risk of offending both mistress and maid, both of whom have us very much in their power. As I walked home from this unsuccessful effort, it was nearly dark; the gas was being lighted in hall, parlour, and chamber. I looked in as I passed, and saw cheerful countenances collecting around centre-tables, or sitting here and there on handsome porticoes or marble steps, to enjoy the cool evening breeze-countenances of those whose families I had known from infancy, and who were still numbered among my friends and acquaintances. I felt sad, and asked myself,