_July 4._--It is evening. All is still. Silence and night are once more
united. I can sit at the table in the parlor and write. Two candles are
lighted. I would like a dozen. We have had wheat supper and wheat bread
once more. H. is leaning back in the rocking-chair; he says:

"G., it seems to me I can hear the silence, and feel it, too. It wraps
me like a soft garment; how else can I express this peace?"

But I must write the history of the last twenty-four hours. About five
yesterday afternoon, Mr. J., H.'s assistant, who, having no wife to keep
him in, dodges about at every change and brings us the news, came to H.
and said:

"Mr. L., you must both come to our cave to-night. I hear that to-night
the shelling is to surpass everything yet. An assault will be made in
front and rear. You know we have a double cave; there is room for you in
mine, and mother and sister will make a place for Mrs. L. Come right up;
the ball will open about seven."

We got ready, shut up the house, told Martha to go to the church again
if she preferred it to the cellar, and walked up to Mr. J.'s. When
supper was eaten, all secure, and ladies in their cave night toilet, it
was just six, and we crossed the street to the cave opposite. As I
crossed a mighty shell flew screaming right over my head. It was the
last thrown into Vicksburg. We lay on our pallets waiting for the
expected roar, but no sound came except the chatter from neighboring
caves, and at last we dropped asleep. I woke at dawn stiff. A draft from
the funnel-shaped opening had been blowing on me all night. Every one
was expressing surprise at the quiet. We started for home and met the