"When I first wrote to thee, the supply of excellent clothing, furnished by New York Friends, and other quarters, seemed so ample that, to my eyes, the subject of further need, did not suggest itself. I thought the time must come when such wants must be satisfied. But that time dawns not yet. The hospitals for colored people are a heavy drain on the clothing. Now, that the army advances, there are daily arrivals of freedmen; they come with only the clothing they have on, and must have a change to preserve health." LETTERS FROM A LADY AGENT IN RICHMOND, 1866. "In my jaunt to Deep Creek, and to the poor cabins in Dismal Swamp, I helped mend six bridges before our horse could cross, borrowing rails from the fence. It was a very hard trip--no chance for a single dinner while gone--but it paid. The same night I mended bridges, I found work of a different kind. Going on business to the Bute Street Church, I found a love-feast under full headway: about two hundred were present; the excitement terrible among the young converts, who, in their frantic leaps, broke lamps and windows, and filled the house with perfect uproar. I found the new pastor dared not risk his popularity by checking it. Courage was given me to make my way to the pulpit, when I at once had permission to speak. All was still as need be, while I appealed to their judgment, and the teachings of the Bible. I saw I had the sympathy of most, and when at last, I said, 'wait till the wind, and the earthquake, and the fire have all passed by, and then go to your homes and listen to the still small voice by which God himself will teach you; and oh, remember, my young sisters, that the proof of your growth in grace is not the _feelings_ you have here tonight, but the _life_ you will lead to-morrow.' There was such an earnest 'amen,' all over the house, as gave me hope again that they will rise above this great delusion. Many came to thank me. 'It was just what we needed, and they will hear it from you.'"