It would be of little avail, to go into the dreary details of that dreariest afternoon. Touching in the extreme did it seem to see the little band (for the ladies willingly agreed to the request to be present) take their places as mourners, with the father; mourners in reality, though so lately strangers; mourners, for we claimed a right to grieve; for was it not, as I have said, a young life, given for our country as well as his?--for the one common cause, which forms so strong a bond between all loyal hearts? A heavy, pouring rain added to the general gloom; the only comfort came from the words of our Burial Service, which must always fall with blessed balm upon the sorrowful soul. It was performed at his father’s request, and with the permission of the surgeon in charge, by Robinson’s kind and true friend, the Rev. Mr. ----, to whom I have alluded before. It was a long, long time ere I could forget the face of that broken-hearted old father, as--everything over--he stood at the door, as we drove off, leaving him lonely and desolate among strangers. He was to start that night alone, in the rain, on his sad, homeward journey, and seemed to long to keep us with him to the last; and how we longed to stay to comfort him! But we must say goodbye, and with a long, warm grasp of that rough hand, we parted, and one more hospital sorrow was over. Brave, gentle, heroic heart! The aching limb, the suffering frame, the strained, excited nerves are stilled forever. Robinson sleeps in a land of strangers; but the turf that covers that “soldier’s grave” will be moistened and kept green by the tears of those who can never forget that bright example of noble unselfishness, and beautiful patience under severest suffering and trial. “I AM OUT ON THE WATER!” U. S. A. HOSPITAL, April, 1863. Out on the water! No compass, no chart! The sails all in ribbons; the timbers apart! The vessel is tossing, the storm driving fast, Out on the water; nor rudder, nor mast! Out on the water! The dark night hath come; The ocean is boiling and seething in foam; We see the waves break o’er the poor battered boat,-- Out on the water; a soul is afloat! Out on the water! Quick! reach him a spar! It is not too late, drift he never so far; Hold to it! Cling to it while the waves toss, Out on the water,--the Spar of The Cross! Out on the water! Is’t harbor at last; Are “the waves of this troublesome world” safely passed? We pray, through That Spar, that the soul hath made Port-- That, out on the water, The Cross was Support. THE RETURN TO THE REGIMENT.