parlors as a dressing-room for him, and laid a pallet that he could move
back and forth to the cellar. He did not arrive, however. It is our
custom in the evening to sit in the front room a little while in the
dark, with matches and candle held ready in hand, and watch the shells,
whose course at night is shown by the fuse. H. was at the window and
suddenly sprang up, crying, "Run!"--"Where?"--"_Back_!"

I started through the back room, H. after me. I was just within the door
when the crash came that threw me to the floor. It was the most
appalling sensation I'd ever known--worse than an earthquake, which I've
also experienced. Shaken and deafened, I picked myself up; H. had struck
a light to find me. I lighted one, and the smoke guided us to the parlor
I had fixed for Uncle J. The candles were useless in the dense smoke,
and it was many minutes before we could see. Then we found the entire
side of the room torn out. The soldiers who had rushed in said, "This is
an eighty-pound Parrott." It had entered through the front, burst on the
pallet-bed, which was in tatters; the toilet service and everything else
in the room smashed. The soldiers assisted H. to board up the break with
planks to keep out prowlers, and we went to bed in the cellar as usual.
This morning the yard is partially plowed by a couple that fell there in
the night. I think this house, so large and prominent from the river, is
perhaps taken for headquarters and specially shelled. As we descend at
night to the lower regions, I think of the evening hymn that grandmother
taught me when a child:

Lord, keep us safe this night,
Secure from all our fears;
May angels guard us while we sleep,
Till morning light appears.