Late again, and Sunday too, but still here I am again trying to write a little, find time I cannot, whenever my poor neglected journal happens to cross my mind I have soon to banish it—Such gem this time, I was in the “Sunny South” I pray that the next Christmas may find us all as happy, well, and gay, as we are now, I have thought, thought and thought today, nearly all sad thoughts too, and I have had a little cry too—I have felt badly and sad all day—I wonder what they are all up to, at home tonight—well let me go back a little—Wednesday morning I slept quite late, (in fact I have only been to morning prayer once or twice since I came) before I was dressed Carrie Wright came for me to go over and help dress the church—I went as soon as I could get ready—worked the rest of the morning—in the evening went again, “Brother Joe” and I made a wreath together—nearly all the young gentlemen were over there—about dusk we at back Callie, Carrie, and I all went down street shopping a little, Carrie “treated” and Mr John Holms, Mr Cobb, and Mr Joe Wright joined us, and we walked nearly to the Depot and then came home, spent a pleasant evening—

Thursday morning we had a little rain, but cleared off, Mr Holms called for me about ½ 10, to go and finish dressing the Church, Mr Holms, Mr Gibbs, and I made a wreath together for the afternoon, Mr Joe Wright, Mr John Holms and I made a wreath, and hoop—Mr Jimmie Wright came in and asked me to take a walk with him and asked me to take a walk with him—I went did not walk far, he is a fine young man but a strange one, I cannot understand him—I do not think he likes me—one thing sure, it will not break my heart—but late in the evening we all went down street—I may well say all for there was such a crowd—I “treated” walked with Mr Gibbs—we all came to Dr Wrights, took a seat on the “gate steps” and “made way” with the candy—we then, or at least some of us then walked down street again, I walked with Mr Joe Wright—we then came home—Claypole and Joe, asked me to take tea with them, but I did not go, nor do I expect to put my foot in that house again soon, Claypole has treated me badly, or least it is all good for what I care, as long as she finds it trouble, I am glad she stayed at home—Friday morning, before I was dressed Matilda and Alice called, they asked me if I would not go over with them to finish their wreath—it looked cloudy when we started—I went with Alice to her Grandpapa’s to get some box, and just as we got in the church it commenced raining so hard—But again sleep claims me, I will have to give up—I did hope I would finish tonight—I feel very little like writing any way tonight, feel just as if I could think for ever—As I look back to last Christmas, how changed do I find many things, and myself with them, in many things can I see and feel the change—Good night journal, I will off to bed 'though I fear it will not be for sleep, only thoughts—hope I will sleep and dream sweetly, when slumber “Heavens soft [nears]” and I may add one of its greater blessings—(‘tis to me I know) designs to visit me—but when they come I hope she will not partake of saddness—my fire is nearly out, Malvina asleep, Aunt Mary & the children 'sleep long ago, I expect, Uncle George has come home and here I am—I wish I did have time to finish tonight—I would too had not Company prevented.