f
fields of glory, as Jacob dreamed and saw a heavenly vision.

He went; and then it seemed as if there had been with him one fair long
summer day, and this was the evening thereof; and my heart was heavy
within me.

But many letters reached me from the distant field,--long and loving
letters, full of hope, portraying all the poetry and beauty of
camp-life, casting the grosser part aside; and to me at home, musing
amid peaceful scenes, it seemed a great, triumphant march, which must
crush, with its mere _display_ of power, all wicked foes. But the
sacrifice of blood was needed for the remission of sin, and these
holiday troops--heroes in all save the art of war--lost the day, and,
returning, brought back with their thinned ranks my little boy unharmed.
Unharmed, thank God! but bronzed and bearded like the pard, and
tarnished with the wear and burnished with the use of war.

How he talked and laughed, making light of danger, and, growing serious,
said the fight had but begun,--the business of the nation must, for
years, be war,--and that his strength and manhood, nay, his life if need
be, should be given to his country. Then his words made me brave, and
his looks made me proud. I blessed him with unfaltering lips; and above
the hills of promise, which my little boy and I saw looking from our
orient window, rose higher yet the mountains of truth, with the straight
path of duty leading to the skies. But when he was gone
again,--gone,--there fell a shadow of the coming night, and the evening
and the morning were the second day.

His frequent letters dissipated the sense of danger, and brought me
great comfort. War is not a literary art, and letters from the "imminent
deadly breach," made it seem less deadly. His self-abnegation filled me
with wonder. "It is well that few should be lost, that many may be
saved," he wrote. In what school had this tender youth learned heroism,
I asked myself, as I read his noble words and trembled at his courage.

My dreams and my gaze turned southward. No eastern beams lured me to
that lookout so long endeared; for the eyes through which I once gazed
looked through the smoke of battle, and hope and faith had fled with
him, and left me but suspense.

Now came hot work. The enemy pressed sorely, and men's--ay, and
women's--souls were tried. Long days of silence passed, days of
sickening doubt, and then came the news of _victory_,--victory bought
with precious blood and heavy loss. Over t