But they kept up their work for the Confederate soldiers, and keep it up to this day. Soldiers' graves were everywhere looked after. Memorial associations were organized all over the South. The two great societies of Richmond, the Hollywood and the Oakwood, each looking after thousands of graves, the names of whose occupants are unknown, are doing the most sublime work the world ever saw. The Southern women soon extended their efforts to building Confederate monuments all over the South, providing soldiers' homes in the various States and securing what pensions the Southern States could afford. As long as they live they work for the cause they loved; when they die their spirit lives on in their worthy daughters. THE EMPTY SLEEVE [By Dr. G. W. Bagby.] [In Living Writers of the South, pages 28-29.] Tom, old fellow, I grieve to see That sleeve hanging loose at your side. The arm you lost was worth to me Every Yankee that ever died. But you don't mind it at all. You swear you've a beautiful stump, And laugh at the damnable ball. Tom, I knew you were always a trump! A good right arm, a nervy hand, A wrist as strong as a sapling oak, Buried deep in the Malvern sand-- To laugh at that is a sorry joke. Never again your iron grip Shall I feel in my shrinking palm. Tom, Tom, I see your trembling lip. How on earth can I be calm? Well! the arm is gone, it is true; But the one nearest the heart Is left, and that's as good as two. Tom, old fellow, what makes you start? Why, man, she thinks that empty sleeve A badge of honor; so do I And all of us,--I do believe The fellow is going to cry. "She deserves a perfect man," you say. You, "not worth her in your prime." Tom, the arm that has turned to clay Your whole body has made sublime; For you have placed in the Malvern earth The proof and the pledge of a noble life, And the rest, henceforward of higher worth, Will be dearer than all to your wife. I see the people in the street Look at your sleeve with kindling eyes; And know you, Tom, there's nought so sweet, As homage shown in mute surmise. Bravely your arm in battle strove, Freely for freedom's sake you gave it; It has perished, but a nation's love In proud remembrance will save it. As I look through the coming years, I see a one-armed married man; A little woman, with smiles and tears, Is helping as hard as she can To put on his coat, and pin his sleeve, Tie his cravat, and cut his food, And I say, as these fancies I weave, "That is Tom, and the woman he wooed." The years roll on, and then I see A wedding picture, bright and fair; I look closer, and it's plain to me That is Tom, with the silver hair. He gives away the lovely bride, And the guests linger, loth to leave The house of him in whom they pride,-- Brave Tom, old Tom, with the empty sleeve. THE OLD HOOPSKIRT