of memories of those days of shot and shell and red meteors,
of the camp, of the march, of the sick and wounded to whom she
ministered, and of the realization that "All our glorious visions fled
and left us nothing real but the dead, in the land where we lay
dreaming."

When she remarked upon my youth the fancy drifted through my mind that
she was rather old for a bride, or at least looked so, for I was
accustomed to seeing very youthful brides, being only half her years
when I was one, while she had passed through ageing experiences, had
written many books, and looked older than she really was. I had not
formed the habit of thinking of her as Mrs. Wilson, and in the
confusion of the old name and the new could not recall either, so
called her "Mrs. Macaria." She laughed and told me that she was
accustomed to being called "Beulah," but this was the first time that
she had been addressed as "Mrs. Macaria."

She told me of the many adventures of "Macaria" in its early days.
Camp "Beulah," named in honor of her second book, which appeared not
long before the opening of the war and brought her at once into
prominence as a writer, was near Summerville, the girlhood home of
Augusta Evans, and in that camp and its hospital, as well as in the
many others which soon sprang up around the Evans residence, she took
a Southern woman's share in the work, the darkness and the heartache
of the time. Her friend, Mr. Thomas Cooper De Leon, of Mobile, gives a
picture of her in those days:

The slim, willowy girl, with masses of brown hair coiled in the
funnel depths of a poke bonnet, a long check apron and a pair of
tin buckets, became the typical guardian angel of the nearby
hospitals.

She was amanuensis, as well as nurse, cook and general purveyor of
light and comfort, and she sent many a cheering letter to waiting
hearts at home, and never was the power of her glowing pen used more
nobly and helpfully than when, forced to write the last dread message
of all, it wove into the sorrowful words a golden thread of love and
faith and hope.

In the pauses of her work she wrote most of her war-novel, "Macaria,"
which, to a great extent, shared the uncertainties and excitements of
the period. It was published in 1864 by West & Johnson, of Richmond,
being printed on wrapping paper, and soon became a favorite with the
Southern soldiers, who probably found in it more human nature and more
of the logic of possible events than