Monday morning March 2nd, 1863

I can not study any longer when the boom of the canon is to be heard.  There must be a fight going on somewhere.  Probably our men are trying to take Ft. Donelson.  I don’t think I have heard such constant cannonading since the fall of that place into the hands of the Federals.  Bomb, bomb it goes.  I do believe something is going to take place in our favor.  Probably the confederates will be here in a few days.  But I am rattling on too fast.  If our men get to Fort D., probably they will not come here.  Oh but if they do, what a pleasure it will be to have the “bonnie greys” to look at instead of the “Blue tail flies.”  I am perfectly disgusted with the color blue.  I never  want to see anything blue again.  Oh how I wish this war was over!  I hope it will not last another year, no not a month longer.  I wish the Yankees would give up.  They have certainly found out that they can not whip the southerners.

Why should the Yankees get no more pay?  Because they have received checks enough already.

March 3rd, 1863 Tuesday evening

Yesterday in the midst of my writing, one of our friends came in, and of course, I had to stop writing and entertain her until Ma came up out of the garden (She was down there having some seed planted.).  I had a “heap” to put-down yesterday, but as soon as anybody comes in and speaks to me, it is all gone.

Some people are great boobies!!  She stayed here until after dinner.  I dressed to go and call on Miss Ingrim.  As I came through Ma’s room to bid her good evening, says she “Nannie you look mighty nice, black becomes you,” becomes the fiddle stick.  What do I care whether it becomes me or not?  I don’t wear black because it becomes me.  I think it is a sad sight to see one dressed in deep mourning; even when one makes such silly remarks it bring up a sad chain of thoughts.  I wear mourning because it corresponds with my feelings.

I remember a remark a very superficial minded young lady made to me the other day:  “I think a long black dress and a long black veil looks so nice.” Poor creature let her think on.  She wore mourning once for her father.

Well I called on Miss Ingrim and like her better than I did the first time I met her; she has red hair.  Mrs. McKeage was here yesterday afternoon.  She still thinks she will have her company Thursday evening.  She is very anxious for me to come, but I am not going.  Yesterday I was silly enough to think of braiding my hair and pinning a white rose bud in my bosom.  Oh how foolish and weak I am.  The very idea of I thinking how I would dress when I was just now condemning it in others, but I am not weak enough to break my word.  I have never done that knowingly.  I am taking a new piece of music “The Storm.”  It is a splendid thing.  It represents a herdsman on his way home with his flock.  He is playing a hymn on his flute.  He is overtaken by a storm.  The thunder is very distinct.  The crashing of trees, the pouring of water, now and then through all is to be heard the notes of the flute and then the “fire bells.”

I have a new song too.  “He has gone and I have sent him,” to the war, of course.

Why are the “Greenbacks” like the Jews?  Because they have a father Abraham and no with not their redeemer.  (pretty good

Monday 23rd March 1863
9 O’clock P.M.
I look now and see a family picture. The night is rather warm, consequently the fire has nearly burnt to ashes. The table is in the middle of the floor with a bright lamp burning upon it. Pa is sitting upon one side reading, his usual occupation, myself upon the other writing, and Ma in the corner knitting and rocking. Upon the table is laying my French books, “Charles 12th”, and dictionary with Barkers Philosophy. I have just finished reciting my lessons to Pa. But the circle is not complete. Let me ask myself the question “If a stranger were to pass by and look in, would he say that our little circle had been broken?” Probably, he would not think of it, but if he could look into our hearts (and some times into my mother’s eyes when all is quiet around her and she sits knitting in the corner), he would know that something had happened. Once we were a gay and happy family – once there was six of us now there is three left at home. Two have been taken, one is still battling for “freedom”. Oh God send him back to us, spare him I pray! How I am blessed, both parents are sparred me and how I hope I live to bless them. I wonder if I will ever marry or if I will always be simple “Nannie Haskins”. If I do marry, I wonder who it will be – if it will be a happy marriage, if the man will be poor or rich, handsome or ugly – in short a “clod pole or a tadpole”. Good night my clod pole or tadpole which ever you may be. At A Later Hour Now I am in my own room editing by my little lamp. I read what I wrote before I left Ma’s room and see how silly I am. It is a blessed thing that no one will see this book but myself. For one moment I run on a sad strain, the next I dash off on something about marrying. I am a simpleton any way and I am afraid I will never be any thing else. We heard from brother a few days ago. He has had the “small pox” in a very light form, is now well, and has returned to the regiment. The weather is unpleasant again. I took a new piece today on the piano “Le Reve”. It is a very beautiful as well a difficult thing. I practiced with Annie Heillsman this evening. She is Mattie’s cousin who is going to school with her. I think she is one of the nicest girls I ever saw. She is not at all pretty – in any estimation looks do not constitute beauty. Such beautiful rosy cheeks she has and elegant eyes, neither her mouth nor her nose are pretty. Some would admire her hair, but I do not. It is a real flaxen. So far as I have seen her, I think I will admire her more than I do Mattie though I love the latter dearly. I do not admire all those whom I love. Miserable, miserable hand will I never learn to write. Capt. Heiek Johnson has been recaptured near Nashville in ladies clothes at Mr. Dartehes. He has been sent to Fortress Monroe to be exchanged. I am thinking they will send hem where he don’t want to go – to the army. I ought not to say that. However, no one will ever see it. We have just given the Yanks a whipping at Fort Hudson. Report says they are fighting at Murfreesboro.