“Robinson, do you know me?” He starts, and in a moment the vacant gaze changes into one of his old bright smiles of recognition. “Know you! Why shouldn’t I know you? How long it is, Miss ----, since I have seen you,--and you too,” added he, stretching out his hand to M.; but even as he spoke, his expression changed, and his mind wandered again. And this was the end of all our care--this the result of so many weary months of suffering. He seemed pleased at our coming, and would answer any direct question, but could not sustain a conversation of even a few moments. We found our old friend, “handsome Harry,” of concert memory, who had been transferred at the same time, established here as Robinson’s devoted nurse, although entirely unable to move without crutches. He told us that the surgeon had told him that morning, that if his family wished to see him, he had better telegraph for them at once. Robinson heard us, and catching the word “telegraph,” said quickly, “Don’t telegraph; father’s poor, and he might come on; I’ll be better soon, and get a furlough, and go out to them.” “But, Robinson,” said I, “you are very ill; perhaps you may not be better, and you would like to see your father.” “I don’t think I’m very ill--they said so to-day; but I think I’ll come round soon.” The next moment he was on the field, and evidently going over the fatal “Fair Oaks” fight. His friend Harry told us that it had been his most earnest desire and longing to see his father; and that he had urged him, some days ago, if he should be worse, to let them know at home. I therefore wrote the telegram on his table, and we drove to the office on our return to the city, that no time might be lost. I was detained at home for the two succeeding days; but some of our ladies went out to see him each day, as he was a general favorite; one lady going in a pouring rain, although she knew that she would have nearly a mile to walk after leaving the cars; their report of the case was most unfavorable. On the third day, the Rev. Mr. ----, who had been a most constant and faithful friend to Robinson, in our hospital, went out with me. When we arrived, we found him in a terrible state of excitement; he had been talking, and was now almost shrieking, and dashing himself from side to side. “It’s no use speaking to him, to-day,” said the wardmaster; “he don’t know anybody.” But once again I tried it, and once again he extended his hand, and repeated my name, and then said, “And Mr. ----, how very kind in him to come!”