The ladies of Newnan were truly loyal, and in spite of the fact that the whole town was converted into hospitals, and every eligible place filled with sick, murmured not, but strove in every way to add to their comfort.  I wish I could place every one before my readers to receive the meed of praise she so richly deserves; only a few, very few, names now occur to me.  The hospitable mansion of Judge Ray was a complete rendezvous for convalescent soldiers; also the homes of Mrs. McKinstry and Mrs. Morgan.  The latter was one of the most beautiful women I ever saw.  Dr. Gore used to say, “She is just plum pretty.”  She was a perfect blonde, with a small head “running over” with short, golden curls.  The Misses Ray were brunettes, very handsome and stately.  Their brothers were in the army.  Judge Ray never allowed his daughters to visit the hospitals, but atoned for that by unbounded hospitality.  Mrs. McKinstry was a constant visitor to the hospitals, and had her house full of sick soldiers.  Only one church in the town was left vacant in which to hold services.  Rev. R.A.  Holland, then a young, enthusiastic Methodist minister, and a chaplain in the army, remained for some time in Newnan, holding meetings which were largely attended.  Dr. Holland was long after the war converted to the Episcopal faith, and called to Trinity Church, New Orleans.  The bishops and ministers of the Protestant Episcopal Church also held frequent services, and often Catholic priests came among the sick, who greatly valued their holy ministration.  Through the kindness of a friend, an ownerless piano found in one of the stores was moved to my room, and, although not a good one, contributed largely to the pleasure of the soldiers, also serving for sacred music when needed.  Mr. Blandner’s lute, my piano, and Mrs. Gamble’s soprano voice, joined to that of a Confederate tenor or bass, or my own contralto, made delicious music.  Concerts, tableaux, plays, etc., were also given for the benefit of refugees or to raise money to send boxes to the front:  at all these I assisted, but had no time for rehearsals, etc.  I could only run over and sing my song or songs and then run back to my patients.  Some money was realized, but the entertainments were never a great financial success, because all soldiers were invited guests.  Still, some good was always accomplished.  These amusements were greatly encouraged by physicians and others, as safety-valves to relieve the high-pressure of excitement, uncertainty, and dread which were characteristic of the time.  I was always counted in, but seldom, very seldom, accepted an invitation, for it seemed to me like unfaithfulness to the memory of the gallant dead, and a mockery of the suffering in our midst.  I could not rid myself of this feeling, and can truly say that during those fateful years, from the time when in Richmond the “starvation parties” were organized, until the end, I never found a suitable time to dance or a time to laugh or a time to make merry.