Nov. 15, 1862.—Yesterday a letter was handed me from H. Grant's army was moving, he wrote, steadily down the Mississippi Central and might cut the road at Jackson. He has a house and will meet me in Jackson to-morrow.
When Bessie J. and I went in to dinner to-day, a stranger was sitting by Mr. W.; a dark, heavy-looking man who said but little. I excused myself to finish packing. Presently Bessie rushed upstairs flushed and angry.
"I shall give Mr. W. a piece of my mind. He must have taken leave of his senses!"
"What is the matter, Bessie?"
"Why, G., don't you know whom you've been sitting at table with?"
"That stranger, you mean; I suppose Mr. W. forgot to introduce him."
"Forgot! He knew better than to introduce him! That man is a nigger-chaser. He's got his bloodhounds here now."
"Did you see the dogs?"
"No, I asked Hester if he had them, and she said, 'Yes.' Think of Mr. W. bringing him to table with us. If my brothers knew it there would be a row."
"Where are your brothers? At college still?"