Returning to my patients in the church about noon, I found a change for the better in many cases; in others it was but too evident that days, even hours, were numbered.  Two soldiers in particular attracted my attention.  One was an Irishman, of an Alabama regiment, the other from Arkansas.  The Irishman was fast passing away, and earnestly desired to see a priest.  There was none nearer than twelve miles.  One of our foragers, himself a Roman Catholic, volunteered to go for him and by permission of Dr. McAllister rode off through the snow, returning after nightfall to report that Father ——­ had been called in another direction, and would not return home until the next day.  Finding the poor fellow, though almost too far gone to articulate, constantly murmuring words of prayer, I took his prayer-book and read aloud the “Recommendation of a soul departing,” also some of the preceding prayers of the “Litany for the dying.”  He faintly responded, and seemed to die comforted and satisfied.  Afterwards I never hesitated to use the same service in like cases.

The Arkansian was a devoted soldier and a pronounced “rebel.”  He had preserved through all vicissitudes a small Confederate flag, made for him by his little daughter “Annie,” now alas torn and shattered.  When he came into the church on that terrible night, although almost destitute of clothing, he bore the flag safely pinned inside of his ragged flannel shirt.  A few days afterwards I found the poor, emaciated frame propped up in bed, with a crumpled sheet of paper spread upon a piece of pine board before him, while, with unaccustomed hand and unaccustomed brain, he toiled over some verses of poetry addressed to “Annie.”  After a week or two, when he lay dying, I received from his hand the flag and the verses pinned together, and addressed to “Miss Annie ——­,” in some part of Arkansas; but as I hoped to retain, and finally to deliver safely, the articles so addressed, I did not tax my memory with it, and when afterwards, in Macon, all my belongings were taken by the raiders, I had nothing left to recall the name, and only remember one of the verses, which ran thus: 

  “Your father fought under this flag,
    This bonny flag so true,
  And many a time, amidst the fray,
    The bullets whistled through—­
  So, Annie, keep the flag.”

The verses were headed, “Annie, Keep the Flag,” and each one ended with the same words.

The sad days of winter passed slowly away; with the spring came changes.  Dr. Thornton was ordered to another post (I had forgotten just where), and of course Mrs. Thornton accompanied him.  Everybody connected with the post regretted their departure, especially the loss of Mrs. Thornton, who was a general favorite.  We had not ceased to miss her when tidings came of Dr. Thornton’s death, and of the wild grief of the stricken wife, which resisted all control.  A messenger had been despatched to call me to her side.  I found her clinging to