and the fearful character of their wounds, made skill and devotion on the part of the surgeons of the greatest importance.  These conditions were well fulfilled, and aided by the healthy locality “and” (during the first few months) “the excellent possibilities open to our foragers,” many a poor fellow struggled back to comparative health.  I was particularly fortunate while in Newnan in having at my command supplies of clothing and money from both Louisiana and Alabama.  This, with the aid of my own wages, which, although I had refused to receive them, had accumulated and been placed to my account, and which I now drew, gave me excellent facilities for providing comforts, not only for the sick, but for the braves at the front, whose rations were growing “small by degrees and beautifully less.”  Upon two occasions I received visits from the venerable Dr. Fenner, of Louisiana, and his colleague, Mr. Collins.  Each time they left money and clothing, giving me large discretionary powers, although specifying that, as the money was supplied by Louisianians, the soldiers from that State should be first considered.  Through Mr. Peter Hamilton, of Mobile, Alabama, I also received boxes of clothing and delicacies, and, upon two occasions, six hundred dollars in money, with the request, “Of course, help our boys first, but in any case where sufferings or need exist, use your own judgment.”  As there were hundreds entirely cut off from home, actually suffering from want of clothing, sometimes needing a little good wine or extra food, I found many occasions where it seemed to me right to use this discretionary power, especially during visits to the front, which I was called upon to make about this time, first to my husband and his comrades in Kingston and Dalton, later to Macon to look up some Louisiana and Alabama soldiers, and lastly to Atlanta, where my husband and many other friends lay in the trenches. (Of these experiences more hereafter.)

Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Gamble, myself, and one or two others were the only Episcopalians among the ladies of the Post, but the services were attended by soldiers, both officers and privates.  Mrs. Gamble, of course, led the choir.  We could always find bassos and tenors.  I sang alto.  The music was really good.  The death of Bishop Polk was a great grief to everybody, especially to the faithful few among us who revered him as a minister of The Church.  Even while saying to ourselves and to each other “God knows best,” we could not at once stifle the bitterness of grief, for it seemed as if a mighty bulwark had been swept away.  I had known Bishop Polk as a faithful and loving shepherd of souls, feeding his flock in green pastures, tenderly leading the weary and grief-stricken ones beside the waters of comfort.  But when the peaceful fold was invaded, when threatening howls were arising on every side,—­casting aside for a time the garb of a shepherd, he sallied forth, using valorously his trusty sword, opposing