Sunday evening, 22 February, 1863
This morning we were all awakened by the ringing of the church bells and the firing of the canon. At first we could not conjecture what it was. Pa thought it was a fire. I was sure Morgan had come, but Ma suggested that it was Washington’s birthday, and she was right. It is the twenty-second of February. This day one hundred and thirty-one years ago George Washington was born the Father of this country and the Prince of rebels. He was the great leader of our forefathers who were his followers when they rebelled against the tyrannical government of our mother country.
Ah! With what a thrill of joy did we used to celebrate this day, but alas, the Yankees try to usurp this as well as the rest of our rights. No! The right as well as the pleasant duty of doing it still remains to us. Although they (the Yanks) say that we have not. Oh it does make my heart ache to see these villains celebrate the nativity of that great man. I know that rather than have them make such a fuss over him, if his ghost could rise up it would say “let me be forgotten.” “I fought not for tyrants. My heart is with the South,” but we have another Washington in our noble Davis. He will ever live in the heart of the southerner. God bless him!!!
I’ll declare I’m so sleepy I must go to bed.
Why is the president of the United States like screech-owl? Because he is always A-blinkin-Abe-linkin-A-b