A girl’s light hand.

On the evening of the 3d of July Marian drove down in her phaeton to the station for her father, and was not a little surprised to see him advancing towards her with Mr. Lane.  The young man shook hands with her cordially, yet quietly, and there was something in his expression that assured her of the groundlessness of all the fears she had entertained.

“I have asked Mr. Lane to dine with us,” said her father.  “He will walk over from the hotel in the course of half an hour.”

While the gentlemen had greeted her smilingly, there had been an expression on their faces which suggested that their minds were not engrossed by anticipation of a holiday outing.  Marian knew well what it meant.  The papers had brought to every home in the land the tidings of the awful seven days’ fighting before Richmond.  So far from taking the city, McClellan had barely saved his army.  Thousands of men were dead in the swamps of the Chickahominy; thousands were dying in the sultry heat of the South and on the malarial banks of the James.

Mr. Vosburgh’s face was sad and stern in its expression, and when Marian asked, “Papa, is it so bad as the papers say?” he replied:  “God only knows how bad it is.  For a large part of our army it is as bad as it can be.  The most terrible feature of it all to me is that thick-headed, blundering men are holding in their irresolute hands the destinies of just such brave young fellows as Mr. Lane here.  It is not so dreadful for a man to die if his death furthers a cause which he believes to be sacred, but to die from the sheer stupidity and weakness of his leaders is a bitter thing.  Instead of brave action, there is fatal blundering all along the line.  For a long time the President, sincere and true-hearted as he is, could not learn that he is not a military man, and he has permitted a large part of our armies to be scattered all over Virginia.  They have accomplished next to nothing.  McClellan long since proved that he would not advance without men enough to walk over everything.  He is as heavy as one of his own siege guns.  He may be sure, if he has all he wants, but is mortally slow, and hadn’t brains enough to realize that the Chickahominy swamps thinned his army faster than brave fighting.  He should have been given the idle, useless men under McDowell and others, and then ordered to take Richmond.  If he wouldn’t move, then they should have put a man in his place who would, and not one who would sit down and dig.  At last he has received an impetus from Richmond, instead of Washington, and he has moved at a lively pace, but to the rear.  His men were as brave as men could be; and if the courage shown on the retreat, or change of base, as some call it, had been manifested in an advance, weeks ago, Richmond would have been ours.  The ‘change of base’ has carried us well away from the point attacked, brave men have suffered and died in vain, and the future is so clouded that only one thing is certain.”