Another day gone. I am still improving. Walk out on crutches
a few steps. Am very, very weak. Rainy still. Major Morfit, commanding prison,
must have noticed the scrap of paper on which I wrote Agnes, for to-day he sent
me up several sheets of note-paper with his compliments. Reading all day, “Artist's
Bride,” Emerson Bennett. Poor trash. I long to hear from home. I have an
egg for breakfast now, with some toast, and clover or hay tea; for dinner,
boiled rice which has to be examined; for supper, baked apple and tea.
SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William
Francis Bartlett, p. 127
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