A bright, sunshiny week. Moral sunshine, I mean; for like St. Peter’s, at Rome, our hospital may be said to have “an atmosphere of its own”--our brightness or dulness being in a great measure dependent upon the state of our patients. Deaths, or very severe cases of illness, naturally have their effect in casting a shadow on everything around; but at present, most fortunately, we have nothing of the kind; and our principal grief (though in a very mild form) has been from the daily partings caused by the return of our men to their regiments; which, from some unknown cause, seems to have been the sole business of the last few days. The “Hegira” has been going on steadily through the whole week, and we have been busily occupied in helping to stow treasures into impossible spaces in knapsacks, slipping in some little contribution of our own, to call up, perhaps, a smile of surprise when opened far from here; in putting up lunches for the travellers--for it has happened that some of our brave boys have fainted on the way from exhaustion produced by delay in getting their meals; therefore, by the surgeon’s orders, they are always provided when they start--and finally, in bidding them “Goodbye, and God speed!” This returning to regiments has amounted to an epidemic this week; the contagion is spreading rapidly, and it is very plain that Dame Example has, in this case, been exerting herself for good. She has taken some of our chronic cases by the hand, lifted them out of bed, and made them feel that effort and firm resolve will do more for them than yielding to the languor of a slow convalescence. One may ask, “Is it, then, at the option of the men, when they shall return to their regiments?” “Most certainly not.” “Does not the surgeon decide that point?” “Most certainly he does.” The surgeon of each ward makes out his list of men fit for service, and hands it to the surgeon in charge, who in his turn examines the men so reported and returns them to their different posts; but, as we all know how much the mind has to do with the body, men who have seemed quite unfit for duty, often, under the stimulus of one of these departures, rouse themselves, make an effort, and find that a little exertion was the only thing needed to fit them for their work. But, on the other hand, this strong desire sometimes carries them too far; a case in point occurred this morning. “Why, Shaw, my man! out of bed to-day? I’m glad to see you up; you’ll soon be off, with the other boys.” This, from the cheerful voice of one of our surgeons, to a man who, from a long fever, had been too feeble, for many months, to do more than sit up in bed for a short time. “That’s just it, doctor; Pat’s going to-day, and I can’t let him go without me. I think I could bear it, maybe. Won’t you let me try?” I noticed a slight look of surprise on the doctor’s face; he pressed his finger on the man’s pulse, was silent for a few moments, and then said, kindly: