have ornamented for the advent of the good news, but those extra fixings will hardly crush out the rebellion. I wish they might. I have been over to the Second Corps to do some talking, which only we war nurses know how to do rightly.
Oh! the beautiful spring day, with birds singing, and the air filled with the yellow radiance, how it reminds me of long gone days, in years away back down the hill of life. There is a peculiar sadness, yet a half-glad feeling mixed strangely therein, which my poor philosophy is puzzled to explain.
The soldiers are enjoying this—sitting by the sunny side of their tents, looking bright as a May day when no moving is going on. I feel languishing and weak, while I ought to feel bright and strong.
My little box-stove and poor wood make me feel cross to-day, when so many are waiting for a bit of cooking from my hands.
I think longingly of the great Stewart's, which stand with reservoirs filled with water, and tin attachments, where the toast would keep so nicely warmed, and wish I had Aladdin's lamp, or ring; I would send the good spirits after one out of somebody's kitchen, who was able to get a new one, and wouldn't there be a stir in the Northern streets, as the clatter arose high over the house tops.
Oh! such salt messes as those cooks prepare in that
