This morning we took leave of our kind host and lady, the dear Miss Jones, and other friends, and, with one long, lingering look at that hospital, around which, to us, a sacred solemnity still lingers, hastened to the wharf and took the first boat to Washington. We had scarcely landed, when a fine-looking officer approached us, and extended his hand to my sister, inquiring at the same time, “Did you find your husband?” She could make no reply; there was no need of words, he understood it all. We soon recognized the countenance of Lieutenant Stevenson, of the Second Michigan Volunteers, with whom we fell in company on our way to Washington. In a moment he is gone, and we see him no more; but the earnest solicitude of the stranger to know whether our fond hopes were realized, and his kind sympathy in our affliction, will long be cherished as one of the pleasant remembrances of this sad journey. And we will pray God to watch over and protect him and return him in safety to his dear family. But should he fall amid the din of battle, or become a victim to disease, may kind hands administer to his wants, and loving, sympathizing friends comfort the bereaved widow and orphans. We engage a room for the night at Mr. Treadway’s, a family formerly from Detroit, now residing at No. 541 H Street (which has since become noted as the place where that dark assassination plot was concocted which robbed the nation of its chosen leader), and then call to see Hon. J. M. Edmunds, President of the Michigan Soldiers’ Relief Association, to learn what was necessary to be done in order to secure a pension for my sister. He received us kindly, and gave us the desired information. My mind is at length made up to remain, and engage in the work of caring for the sick and wounded, as my desire to do so has increased with every day and almost every hour since our arrival. I am also encouraged to do so by Mrs. Brainard, an agent of the Michigan Association, boarding at this place. _Sept. 18th._ Sister Anna and Mrs. Peck started for Michigan this morning. One week ago to-day, we left home for this city. Oh! what bitter experiences, what anxious fears, what terrible suspense, what dreadful realities have been ours in this one short week! As I bade my sister “good-by” at the cars, she exclaimed, “Oh, Julia! How can I return to my children without their father? Their injunction, ‘Be sure and bring papa home with you,’ still rings in my ears.” My heart was too heavily burdened to reply; the train moved on; I retraced my steps, and have spent the remainder of the day in my room lonely and sad, reflecting upon the past and trying to penetrate the future.