Sunday, December 13.—A gloomy, rainy day. We had service in the carriage ward. Rev. Mr. Ransom, a chaplain from Tennessee, preached an excellent sermon. He told us that the Lord was dealing with us as a surgeon would with sick and wounded men; that we were morally sick, and the Lord was giving us bitter medicines.
I looked about the ward, which is very large, and there were the halt, the lame, and the blind, all eagerly drinking in the words of comfort. Miss J. Lowe, a lady of the place, Miss W., Mrs. W., and myself were there. We always made a rule of attending service when it is held in the wards, as we think it gives encouragement to the men.
The reason we have service there is because there are always numbers of wounded men anxious to hear the word of God, and are not able to leave their beds.
