ys in caring for the wounded. But craven-like, I
shrank instinctively from such scenes, and declined to join the party.
But when my husband returned from there, one week after the battle,
relating such unheard of stories of suffering, and of the help that was
needed, I hesitated no longer. In a few days we collected a car load of
boxes, containing comforts and delicacies for the wounded, and had the
satisfaction of taking them promptly to their destination.

"The _first_ wounded and the _first_ hospitals I saw I shall never
forget, for then flashed across my mind, '_This_ is the work God has
given you to do,' and the vow was made, 'While the war lasts we stand
pledged to aid, as far as is in our power, the sick and suffering. _We_
have no _right_ to the comforts of _our_ home, while so many of the
noblest of our land so willingly renounce theirs.' The scenes of
Antietam are graven as with an 'iron pen' upon my mind. The place ever
recalls throngs of horribly wounded men strewn in every direction. So
fearful it all looked to me _then_, that I thought the choking sobs and
blinding tears would never admit of my being of any use. To suppress
them, and to learn to be calm under all circumstances, was one of the
hardest lessons the war taught.

"We gave up our sweet country home, and from that date were 'dwellers
in tents,' occupied usually in field hospitals, choosing that work
because there was the greatest need, and knowing that while many were
willing to work at home, but few could go to the front."

From that time, the early autumn of 1862, until July, 1865, Mrs.
Holstein was constantly devoted to the work, not only in camps and
hospitals, but in traveling from place to place and enlisting the more
energetic aid of the people by lecturing and special appeals.

At Antietam Mrs. Holstein found the men she had come to care for, those
brave, suffering men, lying scattered all over the field, in barns and
sheds, under the shelter of trees and fences, in need of every comfort,
but bearing their discomforts and pain without complaint or murmuring,
and full of gratitude to those who had it in their power to do anything,
ever so little, for their relief.

Here she encountered the most trying scenes--a boy of seventeen crying
always for his mother to come to him, or to be permitted to go to her,
till the great stillness of death fell upon him; agonized wives seeking
the remains of the lost, sorrowing relatives, of all degrees,