ed the record made by Southern women. Their patriotism was not
the outcome of mere sentiment, but a pure steady flame which from the
beginning of the war to the end burned brightly upon the altars of
sacrifice, which they set up all over the land. "The power behind the
throne" never ceased to be felt. Its spirit pervaded every breast of
the living barricades which opposed the invaders, nerved every arm to
battle for the right, inspired valorous deeds which dazzled the world.
From quiet homes far from the maddening strife, where faithful women
toiled and spun, facing and grappling with difficulties, even dangers,
never complained of, came bright, cheery letters, unshadowed by the
clouds which often hung dense and dark over their daily pathway but
glowing with unshaken faith, undaunted patriotism, lofty courage, and
more than all pride in the exceptional bravery which _they always took
for granted_. Men must not fail to come up to the standard set up in
simple faith by mothers, wives, daughters, and, as all the world
knows, _they did not_.

It was my daily business during the war to read and answer letters to
sick soldiers. Almost all were such as I have described. A few, alas!
were far different. As I read them and watched the agony they caused,
I understood why some men became deserters, and absolutely revered the
manliness and patriotism which resisted a temptation so terrible.

It seemed once that I could never forget the contents of letters which
particularly impressed me, but am sorry I have done so and cannot
reproduce them here. One I can never forget. A tall, splendid Missouri
soldier came into my office one morning, his face convulsed with
grief. Handing me a letter, he sank into a chair, burying his face in
his hands and sobbing pitifully. A letter had been somehow conveyed to
him from his sister-in-law announcing that his wife was dying of
consumption. Appended to the letter (which was sad enough) were a few
lines written by the trembling hand of the dying one. "Darling, do not
let any thoughts of me come between you and your duty to our country.
I have longed to see you once more, to die with my head upon your
breast; but that is past,--I am calm and happy. We have long known
that this parting must be; perhaps when my soul is free I may be
nearer you. If possible, my spirit will be with you wherever you are."

I can only recall these few lines. A volume could not convey more
strongly the spirit of Southern