Judith White McGuire, Diary of a southern refugee during the war, by a lady of Virginia

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[313] her husband was the best man that ever lived; how everybody loved him; how kind he was to all; how devoted to herself; how he loved his children, took care of, and did every thing for them; how, from her earliest years almost, she had loved him as herself; how tender he was of her, watching over her in sickness, never seeming to weary of it, never to be unwilling to make any sacrifice for her comfort and happiness; how that, when the telegraph brought the dreadful news that he was dangerously wounded, she never waited an instant nor stopped a moment by the way, day nor night, and now “I drove as fast as the horses could come from the depot to this place, and he is dead and buried!-I never shall see his face again!” “What shall I do?” --“But where is he buried?” They told her where. “I must go there; he must be taken up; I must see him!” “But, madam, you can't see him; he has been buried some hours.” “But I must see him; I can't live without seeing him; I must hire some one to go and take him up; can't you get some one to take him up? I'll pay him well; just get some men to take him up. I must take him home; he must go home with me. The last thing I said to his children was, that they must be good children, and I would bring their father home, and they are waiting for him now! He must go; I can't go without him; I can't meet his children without him!” and so, with her woman's heart, she could not be turned aside-nothing could alter her purpose. The next day she had his body taken up and embalmed. She watched by it until every thing was ready, and then carried him back to his own house and his children, only to seek a grave for the dead father close by those he loved, among kindred and friends in the fair sunny land he died to defend.

Many painfully interesting scenes occur, which I would like