Congress adjourns to-day. Jeff Davis ill. We go home on
Monday if I am able to travel. Already I feel the dread stillness and torpor of
our Sahara of a Sand Hill creeping into my veins. It chills the marrow of my
bones. I am reveling in the noise of city life. I know what is before me.
Nothing more cheering than the cry of the lone whippoorwill will break the
silence at Sandy Hill, except as night draws near, when the screech-owl will
add his mournful note.
SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin
and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 124
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