22 November 1862: “…my wicked spirit must always have some trial to chasten it, let me bear it then without murmuring…”

Item description: Entry, 22 November 1862, from the diary of Sarah Lois Wadley.

More about Sarah Lois Wadley:
Sarah Lois Wadley was born in 1844 in New Hampshire, the daughter of railroad superintendent William Morrill Wadley (1813-1882) and Rebecca Barnard Everingham Wadley (1819-1905). Although born in New England, she appears to have been raised in the South, and lived with her family in homes near Amite in Tangipahoa Parish, Monroe and Oakland in Ouachita Parish, La., and near Macon, Ga. Sarah Lois Wadley died unmarried in Monroe County, Ga., in 1920.

[Transcription available below images.]

Item citation: From the Sarah Lois Wadley Papers, #1258Southern Historical Collection,Wilson Library, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

Item transcription:

Saturday, Nov. 22–

Father left Tuesday, another month of waiting is before us now. The small pox is at the camps, several have died with it, we are anxious to have the children vaccinated, but cannot get any matter.

At last they have commenced burning the brick kiln, it has now been burning two nights we have been out to see it each night, it has been beautiful starlight and we have had an excellent opportunity of observing the stars, the trees no longer interpose a leafy screen between us and the heavens, nearly all of them are bare now.

This is a delightful day, the sky is perfectly blue and the air warm but bracing, as I sit here the perfumes of our heliotropes and geranium reaches me, and through through the open window I hear the low, sweet music of the pines, how calmly beautiful the scene; not the fresh, bright spirit of spring, it is true, nor the glowing luxury of summer, nor gayety of early autumn, but the beauty of winter, an indescribable, a peculiar beauty when the spirit is calmed the passions seem to die in looking out on the shining naked landscape. If I could only feel that my country was at peace what happiness would be mine; yet I know not I am ever prone to murmur; my wicked spirit must always have some trial to chasten it, let me bear it then without murmuring.

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