I found that this “mince-meat” idea took more firm possession of my mind than almost any other connected with the raid; and one of the greatest reliefs which I experienced on that joyful day, was the consciousness that it could not now be put into execution. The afternoon of the “Fourth,” as I entered the hospital, the beaming faces and glad congratulations of the poor fellows, proved how much they had dreaded the rebel invasion, in spite of the bold front which they had all presented, with the single exception of my “mince-meat” friend. I still recall, with pleasure, the intense delight of one man to whom I spoke of our victory. By some strange chance, which I never could explain, he had not heard it. “Is that so? Is it really so? That’s bully. Let’s do something!” and, nothing else being at hand, he seized his pillow and sent it high into the air. But now come the sad results, which must follow alike in the wake of victory or defeat. The wounded, where are they? A battle on our own soil, and at so short a distance from us, comparatively speaking, must bring them to us more directly from the field than any we have yet received; and we have been hoping all this week, as they were pouring into the city, that we should have our share. “Hoping?” Yes, hoping; start not at the term, I have used it deliberately. Once launched upon the sea of hospital life, your views undergo a change, and your one interest becomes to receive, nurse, and watch the worst cases; it is the hospital spirit, and you cannot breathe its air without imbibing the feeling. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday have passed, with only the admittance of a few each day, none badly wounded, and none requiring special care or tending; and to those whose burning zeal makes them eager to pay off some part of their debt of gratitude to men, who, humanly speaking, have turned the enemy from their doors, this is somewhat of a disappointment. We have had, to be sure, the pleasure of several visits from old friends here, who had been slightly wounded in the fight, and have been returned to other hospitals. It is Saturday afternoon. I have just seated myself in our room for a moment’s quiet, after a most busy, bustling day,--many sick, and much to do, although not exactly what we had wished for. M. rushes in, on her return from her dinner. “Sitting quietly, I declare, as if nothing was going on! Do you know what’s at the door?” “Nothing different from usual, I presume; you needn’t try to excite me; I’ve just taken a seat for a five minutes’ rest.” “Go and look for yourself, then, if you are so incredulous. Ambulances and stretchers enough, I should think, to suit even your taste.” As I hurry, half doubting, to the door, I meet one of our surgeons, paper and pencil in hand, talking to one of the wardmasters. “How many beds in your ward? All ready, did you say? That’s right.” “Plenty of work for the ladies, Miss ----; I see some pretty bad cases coming in.”