The day and evening have gone—dragged heavily away with the drift-wood of the past, and I go to bed to forget life if I can, and if not forgetting it, to dream of those whom I would fain see soon.
Bright again, and two days of sunshine have worked their little wonder in my heart. I am thinking with pleasant anticipations of home, and yet the time may be afar off, for while health and strength last I shall not leave the army.
I wonder if any one is to blame for my being a woman, and not having a sister? I think my heart should have had a broader breast to beat in, because it feels cramped and confined as it is, and I am eager to do something which will tell amongst my fellow-creatures, and my slender woman's frame still holds me in check.
If I only had a sister, if not a sister by blood, why not a sister in the intimate companionship of kindred souls? There has been heavy cannonading to-day on the left, but we have not yet learned to what it is tending—this much I feel, as I shudder with my woman's nerves, somebody is maimed, and dying on that trampled space in front of Petersburg.
Very lovely to-day, and I am still feeling better. Our sick are doing well, and a large number have been sent to Washington, on the transport State of Maine—only the wounded are left. My brother has
