The following extracts from a letter, dated Alexandria
, Nov. 30th, have been placed in her hands for publication.
A voice from that unfortunate city, however muffled and broken by the weight of Yankee bayonets, should rarely meet a sympathetic ear throughout our noble Confederacy.
It is long since I have made even an attempt to write to you. I need not tell you what you most know so well, that it is not because I have not wished to, and have not thought of you. But opportunities are rare and uncertain.
I must tell you all I dare of things around, though I expect my news will have been participated, and by a welcome messenger.
We left the — not two months ago, and our place was immediately supplied by officers.
For this we must be thankful, though it hurt me to see the dear old place in such hands, but without this protection it would hardly be standing now; as it is, not even a fence-fall is touched.
In this circumstance it is singularly fortunate, as there is little or no fencing left for miles around. * * * * * *
A message from Dixie, a proof that we are not completely forsaken by our friends, makes us comparatively happy.
In all changes, in success of failure, our thoughts and prayers are always with you, and it is our pride to think that our
17th has never yet been defeated — has never sustained a reverse.
I sometimes think the heartfelt prayers for their safety have not been unheeded, so wonderfully have they been preserved.
Our great grief in being shut up here is that we cannot lend a helping hand in the work that is being done for the comfort of our men. I have one consolation I worked for them while I could.
I end as I begin, feeling that I want to any touch but cannot; for how can one write loosely with the feeling that there is a