and there were men who had not had a change of clothing in weeks, and to whom the smallest dainty from the cookhouse was sweeter than could be concentrated from all the greenhouses in America, beautiful as they were, and rare with perfume.
I turned to my tent, sick of folly—sick of fashion—sick of that species of my sex which trailed costly silks and laces in the dry dust, when the help for which many died even, could not be given from their hands.
I thought how poor the glitter of life would seem to me there, when hungry soldiers, with eyes hollow from long suffering, starved for the crumbs which they threw to the dogs. I am not sure but wealth and position transform people into other beings, but if they would have rendered me insensible to the miseries of poor humanity, God be praised that he has withheld them from my hands.
More of the wounded have gone to Washington; we have enough left to tax us to the utmost, and then feel conscious that more should be done. Another of our regiment has come in, with an arm off. We have many officers, and I don't see why they should be any more trouble than privates, unless they expect the straps to be considered—and I don't choose to do that—I came out to nurse the private soldiers, and I wish some one who understands their cases would attend to these particular officers. The State of Maine has again left.
