lines. I feel that I am betraying
his kindness every trip I make, and only the urgent need
that our dear boys have for medicines could induce me to do
as I do. After this trip I shall go to New Orleans,{*}
where I fear Madge is sick, as shew as not at all well the
last I heard from her. Pray earnestly, my dear husband,
every day, as I do, that this trouble may end soon, some
way, and I beg of you not to have a feeling of revenge in
your heart towards your enemies, on account of the loss of
your arm, as there are thousands of federals similarly
afflicted. I shall love you more, and I will wrap your empty
sleeve about my neck, and try never to miss the strong arm
that was my support. Adieu.

"Your loving wife."

That letter knocked me out in one round. I had begun to enjoy the
unpacking of the smuggled goods, and the discomfiture of my female
smuggler, but when I read that loving letter, breathing such a
Christian spirit, and thought of the poor wife-mother behind the pulpit
unravelling herself, I was ashamed, and I said to myself, "she shall not
take off another rag. So I handed back the letter and the dress, and all
of the things she had taken off, and I said:

"Put everything right back onto yourself, and come out at your leisure,
and we took the medicines and went out of the schoolhouse. Presently
She came out, and I told her it was my duty to take her back to
headquarters, but if she had no objections to my taking the letter to
the general, with the medicines, she could go back to the house where
she boarded, and I thought if she took the first boat for New Orleans,
it would be all right, and I would see that the letter was sent through
the lines to her husband. I helped her on her horse, and I said:

"You can escape. Your horse is better than ours, and though you are a
prisoner, we would not shoot at you if you tried to escape. I hope your
prayers will have the effect you desire, and that the trouble will soon
be over. I hope you will and the children well, and that the husband
will be spared to be a comfort to you."

She bowed her head, as she sat in the saddle, and the look of defiance
which she had shown, was gone, and one of thankfulness, peace, hope,
purity, took its place. She handed me the letter, and asked:

"Can I go?"

I told, her she was free to go. She turned her horse; towards town,
touched him with the whip, and he was; away lik