I had a great desire to know more of this man who had so strangely called forth my sympathies, and finding that he had grown stronger since he had partaken of some nourishment, I entered into conversation with him. I found that he was wholly and conscientiously a Confederate soldier, but, strange to say, completely divested of that inveterate hatred of the Yankees which is almost universal among the Southerners. I dared not express my sentiments in very strong terms, but gently interrogated him with regard to the right which he claimed the rebels had to take up arms against the United States Government.
At length I asked him if he professed to be a Soldier of the Cross; he replied with emotion and enthusiasm, "Yes, thank God! I have fought longer under the Captain of my Salvation than I have yet done under Jeff Davis." My next and last question upon that subject was—"Can you, as a disciple of Christ, conscientiously and consistently uphold the institution of Slavery?" He made no reply, but fixed those mournful eyes on my face with a sad expression, as much as to say—"Ah, Bridget, you have touched a point upon which my own heart condemns me, and I know that God is greater than my heart, and will also condemn me."
In this earnest conversation I had unconsciously forgotten much of my Hibernian accent, and I thought that the sick man began to suspect that I
