It is done... the precious portrait placed in the hands of the gentlemen for safe keeping.

Our private property must be sacrificed.

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.

When I shall again write to you, or where I shall be tomorrow, I cannot tell.

Disaffection stalks around us.

It is one of my sources of happiness never to desire a knowledge of other people's business.