At length we reached the "Hospital of the Good Samaritan." It is situated on the outskirts of the city, and has been taken by the Government for soldiers sick with contagious diseases. The building is large and not unpleasant, the ceilings high, and the rooms cheerfully lighted. There seemed to be such comforts as can be bought and sold, and the attendants appeared kind and diligent. But here I must stop on the favorable side. As I looked around, I learned why soldiers dread the hospital. The cots were close together, with just room enough to pass between, and on every cot lay a sick man. At the sound of the opening door, some looked eagerly toward us--others turned their eyes languidly--and others again did not change their vacant gaze, too weak to care who came or went away. There were faces flushed with fever, others pale and thin, and others with the pallor of death settling upon them, the lips muttering unconsciously in delirium, and the fingers nervously picking the bed clothes. Here was a man who had just arrived, timid and anxious; and on the next cot was one who would soon depart on the last march. I went into the room where my lost soldier had taken his farewell, hoping to gather from the other occupants some last words or message for the dear ones of his home. The cot was still empty. I went up to the next patient and whispered my question, "Did you know the young man who died this morning?" The man shook his head and said, "No, I was too sick;" and he glanced nervously at the empty cot so close beside him. I passed round and asked the next. He half opened his closed eyes, but made no reply. It was too plain he could not. I had not observed how soon he would follow Frank. I went to the night attendant, who had come round about midnight, and had spoken to Frank of the coming change. He had been resigned and had expressed regrets only for his family and country, and a wish to live for them. "He said this with great energy," said the attendant, "and I wondered how a dying man could feel so much. But after that he became flighty; and as there were only three of us to over one hundred patients, I had to go and leave him. He died about sunrise." Did he continue delirious? or was he conscious through those last lonely hours? and did he wish for some fond hand to support his head, some kind ear to receive his parting words? I hoped the former. A crowded hospital is a lonely place wherein to die.