My next visit was to the Methodist Episcopal Church, with a bottle of wine for one very sick with pneumonia, who has failed very rapidly during the past few days. From here I went to the McVey House, a hospital recently established as a branch of Camp Convalescent. While there, two more brave soldiers closed their eyes in death--one from Michigan, and the other from Maine. They came from far-distant homes, but died together. In the same hospital, with their cots only a few feet apart, they laid their lives a sacrifice upon their country’s altar at the same time. Dr. Holmes, of Lansing, is here to take the body of young Morehouse home to his weeping relatives and friends; while the Maine soldier will soon sleep with his comrades in yonder cemetery. “Farewell! A little time, and we, Who knew thee well, and loved thee here, One after another, shall follow thee As pilgrims through the gate of Fear, Which opens on Eternity.” My last visit was at Washington Hall, where I found several new arrivals, some of whom are very sick. Oh, how much there is to be done! The entire evening has been devoted to making pies and stewing fruit, to take to the hospitals to-morrow, though I have felt more like folding my hands and weeping over the sad experiences of the day. _December 16th._ After visiting Fairfax Hospital, I went again to Camp Convalescent with pies, stewed fruit, and under-clothing. Mrs. May and Mrs. Bonine accompanied me, and assisted in giving out my supplies to those who seemed most in need, though that was rather a hard matter to decide. We succeeded in getting four, who were wholly unfit for service, admitted to the “Examining Board” for discharge, and two others who were very sick were brought by us to Alexandria, and admitted into Fairfax Street Hospital. Cousin George Jennings, whom I found here about the middle of last month, is still at the old camp; having taken “French leave,” he is now with us, and will remain until to-morrow. He is still quite lame from the effects of a wound received on the 15th of last April, at the battle of Wilmington Island, and there is no prospect of his ever being fit for duty again; yet he is kept, like multitudes of others, who ought to be discharged and sent home to their friends. What a comfort to himself and family, could he have been with them when his only son, a dear little boy of fifteen months, was buried a few weeks ago. But no, he must follow the intricate windings of “red tape” a little longer. * * * * * Though the wounded from Fredericksburg are daily expected, as yet none have arrived. Burnside’s army has been forced to fall back and recross the Rappahannock. Our loss is estimated at ten thousand--another great slaughter and nothing gained. Oh! when will these scenes of carnage cease? Echo answers, “when!” _December 18th._