From A Soldier
(A letter to the editor of Arthur's Home
Magazine - June 1865)
Dear "Arthur:"
What changes have been wrought by this war. A few weeks ago the writer
hereof was enjoying the delights of home, and cheered by the regular visit of
the "Home," and many other - but none more valued - Magazine. Now, instead
of the editor's easy chair, I occupy a camp stool, and in lieu of writing
"literary notices," I am inditing these lines for your pages - partly to
while away the slow hours of camp life, and partly from a hope that that some
heart may sympathize with my feelings. "Only a home-sick soldier," some fair
reader is saying ; but you are wrong for once. You may better judge when you
have read --
A Soldier's Revery
I see, far away among the pines of the frozen North, in a plainly-furnished
room, a mother and a little eight-month-old girl, with a round face and
thoughtful brown eyes -- a sweet little waif, who could say "dad dad," as
plainly as you, reader ; who used to listen for the footfall on the stairs,
and smile so sweetly as she recognized Papa ; then she would say, "Oh Dea! so
funny when she yawned. An ambrotype is lying upon the table which was sent
"for baby Mira, with a father's blessing." A look of sorrow is in the blue
eyes of the mother -- one of wonder in the brown eyes of the child. Such
eyes! one would think they saw far down the long vista of the coming years,
and that the prospect was a sad one. They are alone! No footsteps for which
to listen ; or, if any, those of strangers.
But "bright are the homes that sorrows never dim," and many who read these
lines find their household band still unbroken. To such I say -- "Befriend
the widow and the orphan of your soldiers -- not with money, but by
lightening the load of sorrow which oppresses and sometimes overcomes them.
Speak a kindly word to the lone woman and brown eyed darlings (my eyes fill
with tears as I think of mine), who, all over the land, are waiting watching
and listening for one who may never come. W.L.A. Camp Randall, Wis, 1865