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'Mine is better than yours；'she answered； 'but it shall never be told。
'Except one little part if it；'said Trumbull； as he put his hands upon her shoulders； and looked down into her face。 'It is the only thing that has made my life worth living。
Then she made us to know many odd things about her work for the children of misfortune … inviting us to come and see it for ourselves。 We were to go the next evening。
I finished my work at nine that night and then we walked through noisome streets and alleys … New York was then far from being so clean a city as now … to the big mission house。 As we came in at the door we saw a group of women kneeling before the altar at the far end of the room； and heard the voice of Margaret Hull praying' a voice so sweet and tender that we bowed our heads at once； and listened while it quickened the life in us。 She plead for the poor creatures about her； to whom Christ gave always the most abundant pity； seeing they were more sinned against than sinning。 There was not a word of cant in her petition。 It was full of a simple； unconscious eloquence； a higher feeling than I dare try to define。 And when it was over she had won'their love and confidence so that they clung to her hands and kissed them and wet them with their tears。 She came and spoke to us presently； in the same sweet manner that had charmed us the night before' there was no change in it We offered to walk home with her； but she said Trumbull was coming at twelve。
'So that is 〃The Little Mother〃 of whom I have heard so often；'said McClingan； as we came away。
'What do you think of her？'I enquired。
'Wonderful woman！'he said。 'I never heard such a voice。 It gives me visions。 Every other is as the crackling of thorns under a pot
I came back to the office and went into Mr Greeley's room to bid him goodbye。 He stood by the gas jet； in a fine new suit of clothes； reading a paper； while a boy was blacking one of his boots。 I sat down； awaiting a more favourable moment。 A very young man had come into the room and stood timidly holding his hat。
'I wish to see Mr Greeley；'he said。
'There he is；'I answered； 'go and speak to him。
'Mr Greeley；'said he； 'I have called to see if you can'take me on the Tribune。
The Printer continued reading as if he were the only man in the room。
The young man looked at him and then at me … with an expression that moved me to a fellow feeling。 He was a country boy； more green and timid even than I had been。
'He did not hear you … try again；'I said。
'Mr Greeley；'said he； louder than before； 'I have called to see if you can'take me on the Tribune。
The editor's eyes glanced off at the boy and returned to their reading。
'No； boy； I can't；'he drawled； shifting his eyes to another article。 And the boy； who was called to the service of the paper in time； but not until after his pen had made him famous； went away with a look of bitter disappointment。
In his attire Mr Greeley wore always the best material； that soon took on a friendless and dejected look。 The famous white overcoat had been bought for five dollars of a man who had come by chance to the office of the New Yorker； years before； and who considered its purchase a great favour。 That was a time when the price of a coat was a thing of no little importance to the Printer。 Tonight there was about him a great glow； such as comes of fine tailoring and new linen。
He was so preoccupied with his paper that I went out into the big room and sat down； awaiting a better time。
'The Printer's going to Washington to talk with the president；'said an editor。
Just then Mr Greeley went running hurriedly up the spiral stair on his way to the typeroom。 Three or four compositors had gone up ahead of him。 He had risen out of sight when we heard a tremendous uproar above stairs。 I ran up； two steps at a time； while the high voice of Mr Greeley came pouring down upon me like a flood。 It had a wild； fleering tone。 He stood near the landing； swinging his arms and swearing like a boy just learning how。 In the middle of the once immaculate shirt bosom was a big； yellow splash。 Something had fallen on him and spattered as it struck We stood well out of range； looking at it； undeniably the stain of nicotine。 In a voice that was no encouragement to confession he dared 'the drooling idiot'to declare himself。 In a moment he opened his waistcoat and surveyed the damage。
'Look at that！'he went on； complainingly。 'Ugh！ The reeking； filthy； slobbering idiot！ I d rather be slain with the jaw bone of an ass。
'You ll have to get another shirt；'said the pressman； who stood near。 'You can't go to Washington with such a breast pin。
'I'd breast pin him if I knew who he was；'said the editor。'
A number of us followed him downstairs and a young man went up the Bowery for a new shirt。 When it came the Printer took off the soiled gannent； flinging it into a corner； and I helped him to put himself in proper fettle again。 This finished； he ran away； hurriedly； with his carpet…bag； and I missed the opportunity I wanted for a brief talk with him。
Chapter 39
My regiment left New York by night in a flare of torch and rocket。 The streets were lined with crowds now hardened to the sound of fife and drum and the pomp of military preparation。 I had a very high and mighty feeling in me that wore away in the discomfort of travel。 For hours after the train started we sang and told stories； and ate peanuts and pulled and hauled at each other in a cloud of tobacco smoke。 The train was sidetracked here and there； and dragged along at a slow pace。
Young men with no appreciation； as it seemed to me； of the sad business we were off upon； went roistering up and down the aisles； drinking out of bottles and chasing around the train as it halted。 These revellers grew quiet as the night wore on。 The boys began to dose their eyes and lie back for rest。 Some lay in the aisle。 their heads upon their knapsacks。 The air grew chilly and soon I could hear them snoring all about me and the chatter of frogs in the near marshes。 I closed my eyes and vainly courted sleep。 A great sadness had lain hold of me。 I had already given up my life for my country … I was only going away now to get as dear a price for it as possible in the hood of its enemies。 When and where would it be taken？ I wondered。 The fear had mostly gone out of me in days and nights of solemn thinking。 The feeling I had； with its flavour of religion； is what has made the volunteer the mighty soldier he has ever been； I take it； since Naseby and Marston Moor。 The soul is the great Captain； and with a just quarrel it will warm its sword in the enemy； however he may be trained to thrust and parry。 In my sacrifice there was but one reservation … I hoped I should not be horribly cut with a sword or a bayonet。 I had written a long letter to Hope； who was yet at Leipzig。 I wondered if she would care what became of me。 I got a sense of comfort thinking I would show her that I was no coward； with all my littleness。 I had not been able to write to Uncle Eb or to my father or mother in any serious tone of my feeling in this enterprise。 I had treated it as a kind of holiday from which I should return shortly to visit them。
All about me seemed to be sleeping … some of them were talking in their dreams。 As it grew light； one after another rose and stretched himself； rousing his seat companion。 The train halted； a man shot a musket voice in at the car door。 It was loaded with the many syllables of 'Annapolis Junction 。 We were pouring out of the train shortly； to bivouac for breakfastin the depot yard。 So I began the life of a soldier； and how it ended with me many have read in better books than this； but my story of it is here and only here。
We went into camp there on the lonely flats of east Maryland for a day or two； as we supposed； but really for quite two weeks。 In the long delay that followed； my way traversed the dead levels of routine。 When Southern sympathy had ceased to wreak its wrath upon the railroads about Baltimore we pushed on to Washington。 There I got letters from Uncle Eb and Elizabeth Brower。 The former I have now in my box of treasures … a torn and faded remnant of that dark period。
DEAR SIR'pen in hand to hat you know that we are all wel。 also that we was sorry you could not come horn。 They took on terribul。 Hope she wrote a letter。 Said she had not herd from you。 also that somebody wrote to her you was goin to be married。 You had oughter write her a letter； Bill。 Looks to me so you hain't used her right。 Shes a comm horn in July。 Sowed corn to day in the gardin。 David is off byin catul。 I hope God will take care uv you； boy； so goodbye from yours truly
EBEN HOLDEN
I wrote immediately to Unde Eb and told him of the letters I had sent to Hope； and of my effort to see her。
Late in May； after Virginia had seceded； some thirty thousand of us were sent over to the south side of the Potomac； where for weeks we tore the flowery fields； lining the shore with long entrenchments。
Meantime I wrote three letters to Mr Greeley； and had the satisfaction of seeing them in the Tribune。 I took much interest in the camp drill； and before we crossed the river I had been raised to the rank of first lieutena