In Judiciary Square, a surgeon asked me to give a jar of currant jelly to a man in Ward Six, who was fatally wounded. I found the man, those in the neighboring cots and the nurse, all very sad, talked to him a few moments, and said: "You think you are going to die!" "That is what they all say I must do!" "Well, I say you are not going to do anything of the kind!" "Oh! I guess I am!" "Not unless you have made up your mind to it, and are quite determined. Those hip wounds kill a great many men, because folks do not know how to manage them, and because the men are easy to kill; but it takes a good deal to kill a young man with a good conscience, who has never drank liquor or used tobacco; who has muscle like yours, a red beard and blue gray eyes." I summoned both his day and night nurse, told all three together of the surgical trap-door that old Mother Nature wanted made and kept open, clear up to the center of that wound. The surgeon would always make one if the patient wanted it. I told them about the warmth and nourishment and care needed, and left him and them full of hope and resolution. Next time I was in Judiciary, a young man on crutches accosted me, saying: "Were not you in Ward Six, about six weeks ago?" "Yes!" "Do you remember a man there, that every one said was going to die, and you said he wouldn't?" "Yes." "Well, I'm the fellow." I looked at him inquiringly, and said: "Well, did you die?" He burst into uproarious laughter, and replied: "No, but I'm blamed if I wouldn't, if you hadn't come along." I passed on, left him leaning against the wall finishing his laugh, and saw or heard of him no more. It was but a few days after he passed out of my knowledge that news came of the death of Gen. Lowrie. It was the old story, "the great man down," for he died in poverty and neglect, but with his better self in the ascendent. His body lies in an unmarked grave, in that land where once his word was law. Pondering on his death, I thought of that country boy going to his father's house, with the life restored by one he knew not, even by name, and the going home of that mature man, who thought he knew my inmost soul, and with whose political death I was charged. Only the wisdom of eternity can determine which, if either, I served or injured. To the one, life may lack blessing, to the other, death be all gain. CHAPTER LXVI. MEET MISS DIX AND GO TO FREDERICKSBURG. I sat down stairs, for the first time after a two weeks' illness, when Georgie Willets, of Jersey City, came in, saying: "Here is a pass for you and one for me, to go to Fredericksburg! A boat leaves in two hours, and we must hurry!" For several days the air had shuddered with accounts of the terrible suffering of our men, wounded in the battle of the Wilderness; and a pall of uncertainty and gloom hung over the city.