Next day I again visited the same hospital, taking sundry articles for distribution. While there I attended the funeral of the sergeant whose sad death I have already noticed. Services were held in the open air, beneath the spreading branches of beautiful shade-trees. The solemn scene was one not soon to be erased from memory. The young wife and aged mother were the only mourners to follow his remains to the grave. But, alas! how many a poor soldier dies with none to drop a tear to his memory until the intelligence is borne over mountains and across valleys, through fruitful plains and gloomy forests, to some humble cottage on the lawn. Oh! then what tears are shed--and all the more bitter because they cannot even fall upon the grave of him they loved so well. And yet there is a still deeper grief. Many there are, who, could they only know _where_ their dear ones sleep, would feel that the bitterest dreg was removed from their cup of sorrow. Alas! their fate will only be known when the great book of God’s accounts is unsealed. Many a heart responds to the painful truth expressed in the following words: “Not among the suffering wounded, Not among the peaceful dead, Not among the prisoners--‘Missing’-- That was all the message said.” On the evening of the 30th, as I returned from my work, I found a letter informing me of the dangerous illness of my eldest sister--Mrs. Clark--residing in Erie Co., Penn., and an urgent request to come to her immediately. At eight o’clock I was at the depot waiting for the first train going West. Arriving in Erie I found my sister still living, though but little hope of her recovery was entertained; yet it pleased a kind Providence to spare her life. I remained with her until she was considered out of danger, and then returned to my hospital work, leaving her in care of another sister--Mrs. Smith--who had already been with her nearly two years, her husband being in the army. I can even now see the pale face of my poor sick sister as she threw her arms around my neck and gave the parting kiss, saying, as she did so, “I shall never see you again on earth.” Ah! I have since experienced the bitter truth of those words; for, in little more than a year from that time, she went to her eternal home. “She is not dead, but sleepeth!” Resting from the toils of life-- Safely moored her bark, and anchored Far from earthly care and strife. “She is not dead, but sleepeth!” Once the gracious Master said To those who sought Him, weeping And sorrowing for their dead. “She is not dead, but sleepeth!” In the grave so calm and still, She waiteth for the trumpet’s call, Resting in her Father’s will. “She is not dead, but sleepeth!” Thy blest words, O Christ, we trust; For though the body slumber long, Thou wilt raise the mouldering dust.