CHAPTER IV.

MY FIRST CONNECTION WITH THE SANITARY COMMISSIONHOME SUPPLIES FOR THE SOLDIERS-A PEEP INTO THE BOXES-LETTERS FOUND INSIDE-ODD CONTRIBUTIONS. Local Societies merged in the Commission-Become identified with the Chicago Branch - The Secrets of the Boxes of Supplies-Notes packed in with the Clothing-They are tender, pathetic, heroic, and comicA letter-writing Army-"Consecrated Chicken, be jabers!"-"Butter an' Chase, bedad!"-"Comfort-bags"-"Benedictions" in the Murfreesboro' and Vicksburg Boxes-"One Box a Month" Ingenious Wisconsin Farmers' Wives-Women in the Harvest-field - A Talk with them-Generosity of a Tailoress" "The "five-dollar gold Piece" "Matches! Matches!"- Afraid of a Kiss - Children's sanitary Fairs - Gift of a five-year old Boy.

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RGANIZATIONS of women for the relief of sick and wounded soldiers, and for the care of soldiers' families, were formed with great spontaneity at the very beginning of the war. There were a dozen or more of

them in Chicago, in less than a month after Cairo was occupied by Northern troops. They raised money, prepared and forwarded supplies of whatever was demanded, every shipment being accompanied by some one who was held responsible for the proper disbursement of the stores. Sometimes these local societies affiliated with, or became parts of, more comprehensive organizations. Most of them

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SECRETS OF THE BOXES.

worked independently during the first year of the war, the Sanitary Commission of Chicago being only one of the relief agencies. But the Commission gradually grew in public confidence, and gained in scope and power; and all the local societies were eventually merged in it, or became auxiliary to it. As in Chicago, so throughout the country. The Sanitary Commission became the great channel, through which the patriotic beneficence of the nation flowed to the army.

When the local aid society of which I was president, merged its existence in that of the Sanitary Commission, I also became identified with it. Thenceforth, until the bells rang in the joyful news of peace, my time and energy were given to its varied work. In its busy rooms I was occupied most of the time when not in the hospitals, or engaged with some of the Northwestern soldiers' aid societies.

Here, day after day, the drayman left boxes of supplies sent from aid societies in Iowa, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois, and Indiana. Every box contained an assortment of articles, a list of which was tacked on the inside of the lid. These were taken out, stamped in indelible ink with the name of the "CHICAGO SANITARY COMMISSION," the stamp as broad as your hand, and the letters so large as to be easily read across a room. For the convenience of the hospitals they were repacked,— shirts by themselves, drawers by themselves, and so Then they awaited orders from the hospitals. One day I went into the packing-room to learn the secrets of these boxes, - every one an argosy of love,

on.

and took notes during the unpacking. A capacious box, filled with beautifully made shirts, drawers,

NOTES FOLDED IN THE GARMENTS.

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towels, socks, and handkerchiefs, with "comfortbags" containing combs, pins, needles, court-plaster, and black sewing-cotton, and with a quantity of carefully dried berries and peaches, contained the following unsealed note, lying on top:

DEAR SOLDIERS, -The little girls of send this box to you. They hear that thirteen thousand of you are sick, and have been wounded in battle. They are very sorry, and want to do something for you. They cannot do much, for they are all small; but they have bought with their own money, and made what is in here. They hope it will do some good, and that you will all get well and come home. We all pray to God for you night and morning.

The box was carefully unpacked, each article stamped with the mark of the Commission, as a preventive to theft, and then carefully repacked just as it was received. That sacred offering of childhood was sent intact to the hospital.

Another mammoth packing-case was opened, and here were folded in blessings and messages of love with almost every garment. On a pillow was pinned the following note, unsealed, for sealed notes were never broken:

MY DEAR FRIEND, You are not my husband nor son; but you are the husband or son of some woman who undoubtedly loves you as I love mine. I have made these garments for you with a heart that aches for your sufferings, and with a longing to come to you to assist in taking care of you. It is a great comfort to me that God loves and pities you, pining and lonely in a far-off hospital; and if you believe in God, it will also be a comfort to you. Are you near death, and soon to cross the dark river? Oh, then, may God soothe your last hours, and lead you up "the shining shore," where there is no war, no sickness, no death. Call on Him, for He is an ever-present helper.

Large packages of socks, carefully folded in pairs in the same box, contained each a note, beautifully

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"THERE'S A GOOD TIME COMING!"

Here

written, and signed with the name and address of the writer. They were as various as the authors. is one:

DEAR SOLDIER, -If these socks had language they would tell you that many a kind wish for you has been knit into them, and many a tear of pity for you has bedewed them. We all think of you, and want to do everything we can for you; for we feel that we owe you unlimited love and gratitude, and that you deserve the very best at our hands.

Here is another, of a different character:

MY DEAR BOY,-I have knit these socks expressly for you. How do you like them? How do you look, and where do you live when you are at home? I am nineteen years old, of medium height, of slight build, with blue eyes, fair complexion, light hair, and a good deal of it. Write and tell me all about yourself, and how you get on in the hospitals. Direct to

P. S. If the recipient of these socks has a wife, will he please exchange socks with some poor fellow not so fortunate?

And here is yet another:

and I live in

MY BRAVE FRIEND, -I have learned to knit on purpose to knit socks for the soldiers. This is my fourth pair. My name is Write to me, and tell me how you like the foot-gear and what we can do for you. Keep up good courage, and by and by you will come home to us. Won't that be a grand time, though? And won't we all turn out to meet you, with flowers and music, and cheers and embraces? "There's a good time coming, boys!"

Very many of these notes were answered by the soldiers who received them, and a correspondence ensued, which sometimes ended in lifelong friendship, and, in some instances which came to my knowledge, in marriage.

A nicely made dressing-gown, taken from one of the boxes, of dimensions sufficiently capacious for Daniel Lambert, had one huge pocket filled with hickory nuts, and the other with ginger-snaps. The

"I HOPE THEY'LL CHOKE HIM!"

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pockets were sewed across to prevent the contents from dropping out, and the following note was pinned on the outside :

MY DEAR FELLOW, Just take your ease in this dressing gown. Don't mope and have the blues, if you are sick. Moping never cured anybody yet. Eat your nuts and cakes, if you are well enough, and snap your fingers at dull care. I wish I could do more for you, and if I were a man I would come and fight with you. Woman though I am, I'd like to help hang Jeff Davis higher than Haman—yes, and all who aid and abet him, too, whether North or South!

There was exhumed from one box a bushel of cookies, tied in a pillow-case, with this benevolent wish tacked on the outside :

These cookies are expressly for the sick soldiers, and if any. body else eats them, I hope they will choke him!

A very neatly arranged package of second-hand clothing, but little worn, was laid by itself. Every article was superior in quality and in manufacture. Attached to it was a card with the following explanation, in most exquisite chirography:

The accompanying articles were worn for the last time by one very dear to the writer, who lost his life at Shiloh. They are sent to our wounded soldiers as the most fitting disposition that can be made of them, by one who has laid the husband of her youth her all on the altar of her country.

Rarely was a box opened that did not contain notes to soldiers, accompanying the goods. In the pocket of one dressing-gown, a baby's tin rattle was found in another, a small china doll, tastefully dressed in another, a baby's photograph-in yet another, a comic almanac. In every box was a good supply of stoutly made "comfort-bags." A "comfort-bag" usually contained a small needle-book, with a dozen stout needles in it, a well-filled pin