March 14

March 14, 1863

Not feeling so good these last few days.

Sunday, March 14th, 4 p.m.—Just bringing down another load. I have a hundred and twenty wounded alone; the train is packed.

No time for more—the J.J.'s are swarming.

We unloaded at B. yesterday evening, and were off again within an hour or two.

Beautiful day. Most of the officers met at the hall this forenoon to make arrangements for another ball this evening; am on the committee to decorate the hall; have worked very hard all day, but am well repaid as all seem to be pleased with what I have done. Pretty decorations always add to the pleasure of all such gatherings. A large party was present.

March 14, 1864

Monday. Two cannon were brought on board to-day and mounted on the forecastle. This looks like business, but none of us know as yet where we go or when. The Evening Star came in with a large mail this morning. I had one letter, from my never-failing correspondent, sister Jane. Was glad to hear that all's well at home.

March Fourteenth

Content to miss the prize of fame,
If he some true heart's praise can claim,
He lives in his own world of rhyme,
The great world's ways forsaking;
Cares not Parnassian heights to climb,
But valley bypaths taking,
Where even the daises in the sod,
Like stars, show him the living God.
Charles W. Hubner
(The Minor Poet )


Thomas Hart Benton born, 1782



March 14

March 14, 1881.--I have finished Mérimée's letters to Panizzi. Mérimée died of the disease which torments me--"Je tousse, et j'étouffe." Bronchitis and asthma, whence defective assimilation, and finally exhaustion. He, too, tried arsenic, wintering at Cannes, compressed air. All was useless. Suffocation and inanition carried off the author of "Colomba." Hic tua res agitur. The gray, heavy sky is of the same color as my thoughts. And yet the irrevocable has its own sweetness and serenity. The fluctuations of illusion, the uncertainties of desire, the leaps and bounds of hope, give place to tranquil resignation. One feels as though one were already beyond the grave. It is this very week, too, I remember, that my corner of ground in the Oasis is to be bought. Everything draws toward the end. Festinat ad eventum.