Diary of a Southern Refugee, Judith White McGuire.

28th.—We have no mail communication, and can hear nothing from General Johnston. We go on as usual, but are almost despairing. Dear M., in her sadness, has put some Confederate money and postage stamps into a Confederate envelope, sealed it up, and endorsed it, “In memory of our beloved Confederacy.” I feel like doing the same, and treasuring up the buttons, and the stars, and the dear gray coats, faded and worn as they are, with the soiled and tattered banner, which has no dishonouring blot, the untarnished sword, and other arms, though defeated, still crowned with glory. But not yet—I cannot feel that all is over yet.