WHILE in the Manassas House we had many pleasures and some sorrow. In room No. 19 “Little Rosebud” and I had measles, which nearly cost us our lives. We took it of one of the colored chambermaids, who died before we got well. We could see the negro quarters from the back window of our room, and my mother propped me up in bed with pillows, one Sunday afternoon, that I might see poor Ann placed in a common road wagon and hauled away for burial. Little Rosebud’s life was despaired of several times, it being thought one night that she could not live until morning. We had many kind friends during this time of trial.

Dr. Huntington came over from Hospital No. 2 several times each day to attend us, and to him my parents always gave the credit of having saved my sister’s life.

While we were sick, our former nurse, Thomas Torrie, came to see us. When he first entered the room I knew him, but soon after, the fever arose, and I became delirious. He was a very religious man and my parents asked him to pray with them. I remember yet the impressions of that hour. It seemed to me that we were all in an old barn, with long, dusty cobwebs hanging from the high rafters, and as I saw the three kneeling not far from my bed, they seemed afar off, and the tones of the prayer sounded faint and distant to my fever-thickened ears. A few days later our friend Thomas visited us again and found us much improved. The fever had left me, my mind was clear and I was able to talk to him. He loaned me a stencil plate, ink and brush, and I amused myself by marking the hotel linen with his name. I made a rapid recovery, but alas! my voice was gone, and for weeks I spoke only in whispers.