Just returned from a visit of a week to my old friend Mrs.
C. Her home in Richmond is the very picture of comfort and hospitality; having
wealth, she uses it freely, in these troublous times, for the comfort of
others. If all hearts were as large as hers, there would be no refugees
in garrets and cellars. I was touched by her attention to Mr. –––, whom she had
always seen engaged in his duties as a minister of the Gospel. She seemed to
think it a kind of sacrilege to see him employed from nine until four o'clock
in the duties of his secular office, and “to think of his reverend and hoary head
bending over a clerk's desk;” she would say: “Oh, what awful times!” I told her
that she must not think of it in that light; that he had been greatly blessed
to get the office, which supported us so much better than many other refugees.
While talking this way, she would be suiting the action to the word, by rolling
up a most delightful chair to the fire, placing a small table before it, ready
for some nice refreshment when he returned. It is trying to see him work so
hard for our support, in his delicate state of health. The girls and myself are
very anxious to get work from Government, signing notes, copying — any thing to
assist in supporting ourselves; but we have tried in vain, and I suppose it is
right, for there are so many widows and orphans who have a much higher claim to
any thing that Government can do for them. We have heard heavy firing to-day.
The car passengers report that there is skirmishing near Port Royal.
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 174
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