but little to do this morning, only to think how lonesome I am in this great concourse of men, and wonder how I should enjoy a right old-fashioned tea-party with Mrs. Grundy as host, and the lesser lights of village scandal revolving as satellites around her, in unbounded innocence of heart.
I should like to listen to the shortcomings of the prim dames, who had fallen from their high estate, and hear the virtuous indignation which was expressed at the wrong doing—it would revive my faith in the old creed that "Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do," and that human nature was a frail plant, likely to wither under the rude blasts of temptation.
My brother has just come in from the regiment, all ready to go home on a furlough. I am so homesick, I could cry if it would do any good, but it would only make him feel unpleasantly, and I hope to be on the same road and journey not many months hence. Then, children, comforts, quiet, and content, I will welcome you all into my dwelling. I am glad he can go if I cannot; he at least can tell me how things look there, when he returns, and till then I can live on the anticipation.
May at the North is not more beautiful than this morning. The boat has just gone with its load of sick men, and the day was so lovely I could not withstand
