The young men of the army.
The Louisville
Journal says: The fame of Spartan mothers is to be rivalled by the firmness, devotion, and loyalty of the mothers of
America.
The present war calls forth the exhibition of the noblest traits of the female heart.
We have seen scores of letters which, if collected in a printed volume, might accompany the “book of books,” as a most fitting commentary on the value of its inculcations, and show the rich produce of the ripe harvests which spring from its seeds of righteousness and truth.
But we are permitted to copy an extract from one addressed to
Col. J. M. Shackelford, which, in its tone of Christian confidence and patriotic self-sacrifice, is above and beyond all praise.
Written from a secluded country home, “that
Shenstone might have envied” --a home where “peace, tranquillity, and innocence, shed their mingled delights around” --it pours forth the hopes and fears of a mother, who, leaning on the Almighty arm, trusting to His power, and confident in the justice of her country's cause, gives up her eldest son to her God and to that country.
The simple pathos of the letter is the highest eloquence, and its religious confidence the most holy characteristic of an American mother.
It reads as follows:
I send my son to you; yes, my eldest child, with the full confidence that you will care for, guide, and protect him as you would your own son.
My boy has been as tenderly cared for, and his morals as strictly guarded as a girl's. He is young, unsophisticated, and innocent as the most refined female.
God grant that he may remain so, although I know the camp is calculated to demoralize and unfit a man for the social circle.
My boy is gentle, but firm and unwavering.
He can be managed by kindness, but not by harshness.
This I know by experience.
I know martial laws are rigid; be gentle and forbearing in consequence of his youth and inexperience.
Pardon the feelings and partiality of a doting mother.
I now give my darling boy up to his God and his country, and may the just God of battles preside over and shield your devoted regiment, is the prayer of your unhappy friend.
