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darkly closing days of the struggle, the women of the
South have the noblest record.
By their letters from homes, where they were pinched with want, they infused just courage into the hearts of fathers, husbands, and brothers, and held many a desponding soldier to the post of duty.
The same writer, from whom we have quoted, says:
“ If I were to go home without leave,” said a Colonel to me yesterday, “my wife, though I am sure as anxious to see me as it is possible I should be to get home, would send me back.”
You are right, sir, 'tis home influences that make us, under God, what we are. If a man falter, they at home are apt to be responsible.
Depression is rather reflected from home on the army than from the army home.
“You know the circumstances,” said an enraged soldier to me as to “a father confessor,” asking my advice as to a rash act to which he felt he had justifiable provocation.
“Do you think my dear wife would think any the less of me if I did it?”
“She may not censure,” I replied, “but she must regret.
The heart of your dear wife would perhaps cling to you even in folly and crime, but you may break that heart.”
The appeal was sufficient.
“Sir,” said he, “I'll take your advice — I'll desist.”
The women of the
South were never happier than when serving the soldiers.
On every great highway there were open houses for the weary, wounded, hungry, and footsore, where rest, and food to the very last quart of meal and pound of meat, were freely tendered.
Speaking of what he saw at “Sunshine,” the residence of
Bishop George F. Pierce, near
Sparta, Ga.,
Dr. E. H. Myers says:
“ Bishop Pierce keeps the apostolic rule that a Bishop must be a lover of hospitality,” in which good work he is nobly seconded by a wife whose time seems almost wholly given to providing for the weary, wayfaring soldier.
While I was at “Sunshine,” the current of travel
