We go to-day to dine with Bishop Meade. He wishes us to
spend much of our time with him. He says he must have the “refugees,” as he
calls us, at his house. Dear me, I am not yet prepared to think ourselves refugees,
for I do hope to get home before long. How often do I think of it, as I
left it! Not only blooming in its beauty, but the garden filled with
vegetables, the strawberries turning on the vines, the young peach-orchard in
full bloom; every thing teeming with comfort and abundance.
But the family is waiting for me; the carriage is at the door,
and my sad thoughts must end.
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 31-2
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