Disaffection Stalks Around Us.

Our Private Property Must Be Sacrificed.

It Is Done... The Precious Portrait Placed In The Hands Of The Gentlemen For Safe Keeping.

And Now, Dear Sister, I Must Leave This House Or The Retreating Army Will Make Me A Prisoner In It By Filling Up The Road I Am Directed To Take.

I Would Rather Fight With My Hands Than My Tongue.

When I Shall Again Write To You, Or Where I Shall Be Tomorrow, I Cannot Tell.