outright. The man under whose generalship thousands are lost to home and friends is the feted hero of the hour.
When I think how each one in dying leaves such desolation in some hearts, and then multiply this by the lowly sodded trenches of Virginia, God knows how my soul agonizes over a land clad in deepest mourning.
How kind the soldiers are to me. I appreciate each little act of thoughtfulness, which assures me that I am remembered, and have done some good in coming so far from home into the reach of so much sickness and death. I am not working hard now. The time may soon come when my hands shall be full to overflowing with work. O what work—what work! Ye who sew, and knit, and toil over the heated stoves, while those you love are away fighting the hydra-headed monster of Secession, ye little know how these hands toil at the bruised and bleeding wounds, when fresh "victory" sends its recruits into our Hospital.
I could not be happy away from here while the war lasts, still I look forward with longing to a time when a home and home comforts will usurp this strange life, solitary from my sex, yet as courteously treated as though I were the highest lady in the land.
What is it which inspires even the lowliest soldier in the ranks? Never but once have I been addressed in terms unbecoming to a soldier. Certainly
