OLD MAIDS
[J. L. Underwood.]
This would be a dark world without old maids—God bless them! No one can measure their usefulness. Many a one of them has never married because she has never found a man good enough for her. The saddest mourners the world ever saw were some of our Southern girls whose hearts and hopes were buried in a soldier’s grave in Virginia or the Far West. For four years the daughters of the South waited for their lovers, and alas! many waited in a life widowhood of unutterable sorrow. After the seven days’ battles in front of Richmond a horseman rode up to the door of one of the houses on —— street in Richmond and cried out to an anxious mother: “Your son is safe, but Captain —— is killed.” On the opposite side of the street a fair young girl was sitting. She was the betrothed of the ill-fated captain, and heard the crushing announcement. That’s the way war made so many Southern girls widows without coming to the marriage altar.
“It matters little now, Lorena;
The past is the eternal past.
Our heads will soon lie low, Lorena;
Life’s tide is ebbing out so fast
But, there’s a future—oh, thank God—
Of life this is so small a part;
’Tis dust to dust beneath the sod,
But there—up there,—’tis heart to heart.”
The writer is so partial to the old maids of the Confederacy that he is afraid of a charge of extravagance were he to say anything more. But the author of this book is not the only one to admire and love them. Hear what another old Confederate soldier says in the following letter in the Atlanta Journal:
Sugar Valley, Ga.
Dear Miss Thomas:
Will you permit an old Confederate soldier, who has nearly reached his three-score and ten, to occupy a seat while he says a few words?
The old maids of to-day were young girls in my youthful days. They were once young and happy and looked forward with bright hopes to the future, while the flowers opened as pretty, the birds sung as sweetly, and the sun shone as brightly as it does to the young girls of to-day. They had sweethearts; they loved and were loved in return; they had pleasant dreams of the coming future to be passed in their own happy homes surrounded by husband and children. But, alas! the dark war clouds lowered above the horizon and all their bright dreams of the future were overcast with gloom. They loved with a pure and unselfish devotion, but they loved their country best. The young men of the sixties were the first to respond to their country’s call and marched away to the front, to undergo the hardships and dangers of a soldier’s life.
Now, can you imagine the pangs that rent the maiden’s breast as she bid farewell, maybe for the last time this side of eternity, to the one who was dearer than her own heart’s blood, as she watched his manly form clothed in his uniform of gray disappear in the distance? She tried to be brave when she bade him go and fight the battles of his country. She remained at home and prayed to an all-wise and merciful God to spare him amidst the storm of iron and lead, but her heart seemed rent in twain and all of her bright hopes for the future seemed turned to ashes. The weary days and months passed in dread suspense.
Now and then a letter from the front revived her drooping spirits, as her soldier boy told of his many escapes amid the charging columns and roar of battle. After many months or maybe years she received the sad tidings that her gallant soldier was no more; his gallant spirit had flashed out with the guns, and his manly form, wrapped in a soldier’s blanket, had been consigned 129 to an unmarked grave far away from home and loved ones. The last rays of hope fled, and she resigned herself to her sad and lonely fate. They were true to their country in its sore distress, true to their heroes wearing the gray, and true to their God who doeth all things well. Could any one lead a more consecrated life? Now, let us, instead of deriding, cast the veil of charity over their desolate lives.
The once smooth cheek is furrowed with the wrinkles of time, the glossy braids have whitened with the snows of winter, the once graceful form is bending under the weight of years, while the bright eyes have grown dim watching, not for the soldier in gray, but for the summons that calls her to meet him on that bright and beautiful shore, there to be with loved ones who have gone before, and receive the reward of “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.” Soon the last one of those patriotic women of the sixties will have passed over the river, and their like may never be seen again, but their love of home and country will be handed down to generations yet unknown.
With best wishes for the household,
W. H. Andrews.