The women who on that
April evening long ago grieved so bitterly over the news of the
surrender have since known deep sorrow, have wept over many graves.
But, like all the women of the South, they have taken up the burden of
life bravely, and, God helping them, will not falter or fail until He
shall release them.
By and by, the men and boys of the family, from distant Appomattox,
from the Army of Tennessee, came straggling home. All had walked
interminable miles,--all wore equally ragged, dirty, foot-sore, weary,
dejected, despairing. They had done their best and had failed. Their
labor was ended.
All over the land lay the ruins of once happy homes. As men gazed upon
them, and thought of the past and _the future_, the apathy of despair
crept over them; life seemed a burden too heavy to be borne; they
longed to lay it down forever. For a time, men who had faced death
again and again while struggling for _freedom_, could not find courage
to look upon the desolation of the land, or to face the dread future.
Closing their weary eyes, they slept until the clanking of chains
awakened them.
Despotic power wrung the already bleeding, tortured heart of the
South, until crying aloud, she held out to her sons her fettered
hands.
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