boys, lame, bandaged, supported, carried outright, came over the hill to take the train. It was the wounded brigade, and three of every five wore some token of woman's remembrance — of your loving kindness. It was announced to them on the night before that they were to go at five, and there was no sleep for joy. Some of them had actually watched the night out in the open air, like the Chaldean shepherds, lest by some chance the train should go without them. But they were hopeful and heartful, for they would go by and by. That wounded brigade made my eyes dim as they came; no “pomp and circumstance” now, no martial step, no rustling banners and gleaming arms. I should have been less than human had I not swallowed my heart all day as I thought of that brigade, the grandest body of men I ever saw in my life. Well, the cars were floored with the sick and wounded, and we moved slowly away, and I must tell you that all the way along that weary ride of twenty hours to Nashville, it was the thoughtful gift of woman that kept their hearts up. Not on the field of Chickamauga, not in the woods of Alabama, not on the train in Tennessee could I get out of sight of the Sanitary Commission, the Florence Nightingales of the North-west. I want to describe that ride to-day, but cannot: how they waited hours till a Major-General's swift, commodious car should pass; how they crept along at the rear of everything alive. It is worth a chapter, and it shall have it. And so, my sisters, I have given you a hand's breadth of the shadow which that sunshine of yours has pierced and glorified like the coming of morning. When to the grand eternity of the historic page the scenes amid which we wait and labor have passed, the heart of the world will warm to the women of the North-west; soldierly daring and womanly deeds will be blended together forever; the kiss of the daughters will not stain the sword, of the sons; the violet, lily, and laurel will bloom immortal together, and the lost Eden of old will smile once more on the map of the globe.
B. F. T.