Delaware gazette. [volume] (Delaware, Ohio) 1855-1886, 1863-02-13
TO FRIENDSsA at HOME.
BY A SOLDIER.

p instruct you little.
We are men, individual, selEforming free
uien. The tendency of the army life an
/ discipline is TO make us forget this. 1t merge
the individual in the mass; it makes only part
r Of one great living, moving whole; we learn L
fees that We belong 10 our superi0rs; that w,
5 are only governmental targets, to be place,
here and there at convenience. TO be shot at
AIaUut all the recognition OF humanity that w,
caa see in many of our officers is the fact that
/, wessFe given guns to shoot back with; bu
eyeE Eere we are drilled to believe that we cam
ram cartridge, nor place cap nor even
dodge ball, unless we get message along
. the line from the operators in epaulets at the
dfSereht stations above US. But these letters
remind US Of our manhood, of our birthright,
individuality and freedom. What though they
be directed simply TO John Smith on the out
side, with the names of Generals, Brigadiers
Celenels, Captains, etc, used as guideboards 10
our obscurity, they tell US that at home at least
we are not overlooked and we perhaps rccol-
ect ourselves as Mr.. Smith, or Smith, or Rev.
Smith, and the intellect and sensibiities
all commence moving, and the machine be-
comes proud, selt-conscOus, godlike work of
God.
They make US better soldiers, too We get
the blues sometimes; we feel just like going to
thesd dogs. Perhaps we are worn ont with du-
ty, or are wet and mudy, and the fire wont do
anything but smoke, and the wind changes as
often as we do, and blows the smoke right into
our eyes. And The coffee is bad, and the
crackers are worse, and the bacon is worse, and
all this just when we are as hungry as wolves.
Or it may be that we are lying sick in the cold,
damp hospital, while druggy nurses haunt us
! by day and night with their nasty old pewter
spoons, as if we were nothing but troughs to
nIsx up oils and powders in. But the mail
| boy han Is US letter; good445ng one from
ho;ne, or from-ah! you wont get us to tell
| her name though it did come to our teeth; so
we'll just let ii fly within US, and then let it go
back to lis cozy place away down in our warm
hearts. We are not tired now, the fire has
| gut smoking, and leaps and dances Just like
our spirits. The old nasty, rusty crackers and
bacon are decidedly better, and if we shut our
/ eyes and ho.d our noses we can imagine the
coffee is poured from the bright, sunny faced
o.d coffee pot at home, enriched with the rich
est kind Of cream from the milk old Brnde
gave US last night. Or if we are in the hos
pital, the dull eye begins to sparkle, the head
don't ache SO badly, the fever lulIs, and in nine
cases out Of ten the doctor, coming in, will
pronuuuce US better, just as if his nasty medi-
cines had done it, and not the precious letter
covered up in the blankets.
Yes, and they make US better christians
TOO. War is atheiSlie, heatheuiSh, deyilish.
Qualify it as you may, with all that civilization
aud Christianity can do, it is yet the mightiest
rcaping machine in the harvest Of hell.
don't say that God has nothing 10 do with this
machine. but l believe that hid beneath the
veil Of human wrath, be directs every move
ment 10 his own glory. But we who drive AMI
pull and feed the mad instrument, are apt to
get very much like it. Many a man enters the
army almost saint, but leaves it almost a
devil Many Il pure minded, good boy is car
ried away 10y it beyond home character aud
reputation and is ruined forever. But these
letters are the strings of which our hearts are
the instruments, and you can play just the
kind oil tune you want to Oh them. That boy
who was SO drunk and swore so shcckingy
yesterday, took Il good repenting cry last night
under his blankets. And tie reason was that
be got letter III the afternoon from home,
home, from his mother, and it reminded him no
doubt of his church (perhaps of his church
professions) and the Sabbath school, and pray
er meetings. and it may be that memory paint.
ed the loving p cture of the family altar, and
he remembers how his fathers voice trembled,
sud how they all wtpt the last time he kneIt
there. D, how he wishes be were there tonight,
aud boy again to he taught to pray, and put
to bed and tucked in by his mother. And he
goes TO sleep, crying( (soIdiers cry, saw one to-
day) and praying, and he wakes in the morn
ing better man. lie reads his Testament
now (Ihe one with his mothers name in it) and
goes to the meetings, and Christians ia the
regiment whisper it about that he is converted,
thank COD aud take courage o, these home
influences! Cut them off and unless fortified
by the stoutest bulwarls Of grace, we will all
lose our characters US Christians, gentlemen,
and mcn.
And now in conclusion let me give you
few ideas as to how you should write-W Write
cheerfully. Don't enter into long discussions
about the miseries OF the poor soldiers" for
we know what these uniseries are far better than
YOU do. l would not check the expression of
proper sympBhy; but we arc disposed to
whine too much anyhow, aud when you Start
the tune at home we are sure to join in full
chorus.
Write long letters, and don't leave any cold
blank spots on the sheet, like little patches Of
snow. Interline and crossline as much as you
please, so that when we got through the reg
uIar course of the sheet we will have some
nice tilbits for desert.
Write about particulars; we have enough
Generals here. Tell US how many kittens ium-
BILE over the floor; how many calves bIwl at
the barn: whether Towser's sore foot is well
vet or not: what kiud Of dress little Mary
has got; who took sister Ann sleighing last
snow; and, above all, who goes home from sing
ing school will, Of course we won't
mention her name; but you ought to do so,
jus: as if yon didn't know anything about il.
And don't forget to speak of church and Sab
bath school, prayer meetings, and what you
talk about Sabbath evenings, aud what new
hymns you sing.
And thus, having furnished the colors, the
imagination takes her brush and goes to paint
ing and her finishing stroke is always a return
ing soldier boy all covered with scars and gle
ry; unl when she has laid away her brush,
sleep unpins the curtains and covers up the
picture of the dear old home
Tom Bartley's Indictment.
Tom Bartley's indictment of the present