19th.—To-day I have received the expected letter ; but it relieves no part of my sadness. My dear child at home is no better. I may never meet her again. This in another of the trials of this unholy war; but I am selfish. How many have so much more reason to complain than I?
Boxes of luxuries and comforts for the sick received from home to-day. Many of the days which we have spent in this army have been days of gloom and darkness; and, oh! how these stars of kindness do sparkle in the gloom and lighten the darkness around us! The luxuries contained in the boxes are a comfort to the sick, but these are not the comforts which we derive from them. They come from friends at home. They tell of the interest felt by them in the cause for which we suffer, of their interest in us as the defenders of that cause, and that we are not forgotten! Names of many of those who are engaged in this work of kindness are known to us, and whenever heard will call up a thrill of grateful affection so long as memory holds a place among us.
