he ghastly hospital lists I
hung, fearing and dreading to meet the name of my little boy, taking
hope, as the list shortened, from the despair of others, _and no
mention_. Thank God, who giveth _us_ the victory!

And later, when details come in, I see in "official report" my little
boy's name mentioned for meritorious and gallant conduct, and
recommended for promotion. Ah! the groans of the dying are lost in the
shouts of the victor; and, forgetting the evil because of this good, a
woman's heart cried, _Laus Deo_!

After the battle, hardly fought and dearly purchased, my hero came home
on furlough. War had developed him faster than the daily kisses of love
had done; for my little boy--crowned with immortal youth for me--for all
the world came from this rude embrace a man in stature and wisdom, a
hero in valor and endurance, a leader beloved and revered.

But for all this I tucked him in o' nights, and shut off harmful
draughts from him who oft had lain upon the sod, and for covering had
but the cloudy sky.

These were blissful days,--marked in the past by white memories,--in
which we talked of future plans, the future so near, yet to our vision
so remote, and purposed this and that, not considering that Heaven
disposes all things.

And when he must be off, I kissed him lightly; for success brings
security, and I was growing accustomed to these partings; but he drew me
to his breast, struck by some pang of coming evil, and called me
_mother_. Ah! then my heart yearned over my little boy, and I would fain
have stayed his going; but, dashing the tears from his eyes, he hurried
away, nor looked behind him once.

All through the winter, which for him was summer, my heart lay lightly
in its place, and I waited calmly the coming of the end. The struggle
was almost over; the storm-cloud had rolled back, after deluging the
land in blood; in this consecrated soil slavery was forever buried; the
temple of freedom was reared in the name of all men, and the dove of
peace sat brooding in its eaves.

All this my little boy had said must come to pass before he sheathed his
sword; and this had come to pass.

He had marched "to the sea," my conquering hero, and was "coming up,"
crowned with new laurels. I was waiting the fulness of time, lulled with
the fulness of content. Sherman had gathered his hosts for another
combat,--the last,--and then the work would be done, and well done. Thus
wrote my little boy; and my heart echoed