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Women of the war :

their heroism and self-sacrifice.
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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The Good Woman at Rome.
 
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The Good Woman at Rome.

A large body of Union soldiers, that had been confined
in a distant southern prison, reached the town of Rome,
in Northern Georgia, on their way to Richmond. Weary,
famished, and thirsty, they were halted in the middle of
the streets, under a broiling sun, and exposed to the coarse
jeers of the embittered populace.

Handsomely dressed women came out with handfuls of
little cotton bullets, which they threw at the poor, helpless
fellows, with such words as, "So you have come to Rome —
have you? How do you like your welcome?" Hour after
hour of this tedious waiting and insult had passed, when a
Union major, who was leaning wearily against a post, was
lightly touched on the arm, and turned around expecting
some fresh opprobrium. He saw a fine-looking boy, about


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twelve years of age, standing by his elbow, who, glancing
at the guard, who was then looking the other way, pulled
the major's skirt, and asked, "Are you from New England?"
"I was born in Massachusetts," was the reply. "So was
my mother," returned the boy, brightening up. "She was
a New England girl, and she was what you call a school-ma'am;
she married my father, and I'm their boy; but
how she does love New England and the Yankees, and the
old United States! and so do I."

The poor major was touched at finding this stray scion
of the good old stock away here by "the rivers of Babylon."
There was nothing he could give the boy to strengthen
his loyalty but one of the buttons on his frock. As he
was cutting this from his breast, the lad pulled a string of
them from his pocket, and said, "See, I have a dozen just
like it, gifts of other boys in blue. My mother would like
to see you. I'll go and tell her."

"What are you doing here?" growled the guard, with an
oath, as he turned upon him. But the little fellow slipped
away through the crowd, and presently returned, walking
beside a lovely lady, who moved slowly along the pavement,
near the curb-stone, and quietly thrust bank notes into the
hands of one and another of the prisoners.

As she approached the major, the bright-faced boy gave
him a look that seemed to say, "This is my Massachusetts
mother, sir, who has taught me to love Yankees and the
Union." The glances interchanged as the lady threw her
eyes upon the war-worn New England soldier were hasty,
for the suspicious guard was near, but how full of mutual
admiration and esteem!