October 1st, Wednesday.
Just after sunset yesterday, Anna and I were walking down the road towards the sugar-house, she reading occasionally from Abbott’s “Napoleon,” and then pausing for me to explain the very difficult passages she could not understand, when we suddenly became aware of the approach of a horse, and raising our bowed heads, beheld Colonel Breaux and another before us, to our infinite surprise and astonishment. The Colonel sprang from his horse and advanced on foot; his companion slowly followed his example, and was introduced as Captain Morrison. We adjourned our historical fit for some future period, and walked home with the gentlemen. Miriam did not get back from her excursion to the cane-patch until it was quite late; when after sitting down a few moments, she ran upstairs to change her dress. She had just put it on an hour before, but nothing would do but she must dress up fine; so she put on her handsomest organdie. In vain I pointed to my simple pink muslin with a white body that I had worn all day, and begged she would not make the contrast between us more striking than ever, as I felt I could not change it without exciting remark. She was obdurate; dressed herself in gorgeous array, and, as usual, I looked like her lady’s maid.
Colonel Breaux paid my hair the most extravagant compliments. He said he could not say his prayers for looking at it in church, Sunday before last. Perhaps that is the reason St. Paul said a woman should not worship in church with her head uncovered! But as the Yankees stole my bonnet, I am reduced to wearing my black straw walking-hat with its curled brim, trimmed in black ribbon with golden sheaves of wheat. Two years ago this fall, father threw me a banknote at table, and I purchased this with it. Now it is my only headgear, except a sunbonnet. Before leaving, which was not until quite late, this evening was named for our ride to the fortifications, to our infinite delight, as we have dreamed and talked of nothing else for a week. . . .
A dispatch just received from Gibbes, from Mobile, on his way home. I am so happy! But what can bring him? I fear Lydia has gone to Clinton to meet him at Lilly’s.