My eldest brother, Dr. William H. Turner, who was a surgeon in the Union army, came up on a leave; but as the forces were ordered on the expedition against Fort Henry and Fort Donelson, he received a telegram to join his command the very next day. He had little hope of ever seeing his brother’s face again; but good nursing brought him, and many others in that hospital, through to health again. He not only recovered, but he returned to the army; and when his term for three years had expired, he re-enlisted and served till the close of the war. He is still living. He has a ranch and a placer gold mine, with first water rights, near Helena, Mon., where he lives with his family. In the corner near our little room lay a fair-faced boy of sixteen. The surgeons had given him up to die. When we looked into each other’s faces I asked the question, “Can I do anything for you?” The tears came welling up into his great brown eyes; and after a moment’s struggle, he burst into tears, sobbing like a child. I laid my face down on the pillow and cried too. No one laughed and called him babyish. Poor boy! sick and homesick, and needing so much care and love, and yet getting so little; lingering on the borderland, with no hand to help, and no voice to cheer him. No wonder he cried aloud; great stalwart men, stricken down in the midst of the fight, wounded, sick, and sore, understood it; and tears were on many a bronzed face as, taking his thin hands in my own, I cried with him. As soon as he could command himself he said, “If only I could go home, mother could nurse me up in a little while.” “You shall go home. I’ll get you a furlough as soon as you get well enough,” I answered hopefully. From that hour there was a marked improvement in that patient’s symptoms, and many other overcharged hearts were relieved by this outburst of feeling. In less than two weeks this boy, closely wrapped in blankets, was helped to the train, for he was going home on a furlough. Friends were to meet him at St. Louis, and accompany him to his home and his mother in Denmark, Iowa. And she did nurse him up; and he returned well and strong, to beat the drum for the rallying of the serried ranks of men, who, with set faces and glittering steel, marched to battle. Never was a mother more grateful than that Iowa mother was for the little kindnesses shown to her suffering boy. I afterwards met him in the ranks; for he came down to the Sanitary boat to meet me. He was well and strong, and very grateful for the little help I had rendered him. SAVED BY A BIRD. The surgeon in one of the Nashville hospitals said, pointing to one of his patients, “There is a young man slowly starving to death. His fever is broken, and he might get well, but we cannot get him to eat anything. If you can tempt him to eat he may recover.”