But now there was another point of interest. The Confederate flag had floated over the Court House tower through all these months of conflict, but the Stars and Stripes was now to take its place. Soon a little glinting of our loved flag came into view. But what could be the matter? Surely a tangle in the ropes could be adjusted in a few minutes. All stood in breathless anxiety. Such a delay at such a time was startling, and every moment seemed an hour to those who were watching from a distance. At last with rapid sweep the Stars and Stripes was run up to the top of the staff, and a heaven-sent breeze unfurled it to our delighted eyes. What a burst of enthusiasm greeted it. We waved our handkerchiefs, while men who had faced the cannon’s mouth for the flag sobbed in their wild joy, and flung their caps into the air. But the Confederate soldiers, as far as we could see, stood with folded arms, silent, motionless. And yet with all our gladness that the guns had ceased to belch forth their murderous fire, there was a deep, fathomless undertone of sorrow over the cruel, bloody work of red-handed war, that the glad acclaim of triumph and victory could not drown. HEALED SOUL AND BODY. In 1863, just after the fall of Vicksburg, I visited the hospitals in Helena, Ark. Going into a large ward one day, filled with sick and wounded soldiers, I saw in the farthest corner of the room a very sick man. I noticed him the more because he was looking towards me, and there was upon his face such a look of agony and despair as I had never seen on any human face before, and I trust I may never see again. I said to the surgeon, who had stepped in with me,-- “You have one very sick man here.” And when I designated him, he answered, “Yes, he is almost gone; poor fellow, he’ll not live long.” I said no more,--my heart was too deeply touched,--but went directly to him. As I approached his cot-side, I said tenderly, “You seem to be very sick, my friend.” The look of agony deepened in his face as he answered,-- “_My friend!_ I have no friend. I am here dying among strangers, and nobody cares whether I live or die.” “Oh, don’t say that. You have many friends in the North;” and I was going to say, “I’ll be your friend,” but I remembered how empty such a profession of friendship would be on the part of a stranger, and instead, I said, “There is a _Friend_ that sticketh closer than a brother. Can’t you make Jesus your friend in this dark hour?” When I spoke the name of Jesus, he cried aloud,-- “Oh! would that Jesus were my friend; but I am a great sinner.” “But Jesus is the sinner’s friend.” “O lady! you don’t know what a wretched sinner I am, to what lengths of wickedness I’ve run, or you would not think that Jesus could save me.” But I answered, “You don’t know what a great Saviour we have, or you would not doubt. He is the mighty God, and he is able to save to the uttermost; and that means that _he can save you_.”