ad its load of misery.
Manassas had hinted the slaughter of a great fight; Seven Pines had
sketched all the hard outlines of the picture; but the Seven Days put
in the dismal shadows, with every variation of grotesque horror.

In the dearth of transportation and the hurry of onward movement, many
had been left for days with stiffening wounds on the field, or
roadside. Others had undergone the loss of limbs at field hospitals;
some were bent and distorted in their agony; and again the stiff, set
jaw and wide, glassy eye, told that the journey was over before the end
was reached.

The chain of regular hospitals and even the temporary one--nearly
emptied since Seven Pines--now rapidly filled and overflowed. Private
houses swung wide their doors and took in wounded men--brothers alike
if gentle-blooded Louisianian, or hard-handed mountainmen--and the
women, one and all, wrought as if their energies had never before been
taxed or even tested.

But a black shadow had come and brooded deep over Richmond. Half the
gentle forms gliding noiselessly among the suffering were draped in
black; and many a pale face was saddened with an anguish deeper than
furrowed those resting on the coarse pillows around.

The fight was won. The enemy that had for months flaunted his victorious
flag in full sight of the Capitol was baffled and beaten. New glories
had clustered round the flag of the South; new quarrels and doubts had
been sent to the North. Lee, Jackson, Longstreet, the Hills and Hood
had added fresh laurels to brows believed to have room for no leaf
more. Almost every officer had proved himself worthy of the prayers of
such women as the South owned--of that even higher glory of leading
such troops as fought to defend them.

But at what awful cost had all this been bought! The slaughter of their
nearest and dearest had been terrific: women, the highest and lowliest,
met by the cot of the sufferer; and, in the free masonry of love,
tended the living and comforted each other for their dead.

But through the brave endeavor of their sacred office, these noble
sisters of mercy showed no yielding to the claims of self. Over their
own sorrows they rose triumphant--tended the faint--cheered the
despondent--filling the place of wife and mother to those who should
nevermore see home--even while

"The air is filled with farewells to the dying
And wailings for the dead;
The voice of Rachel for her children crying
Ca