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A lady, writing from the hospital at Culpeper Court House, says:

I have lost four of my patients. Three of them died rejoicing in Jesus. They were intelligent, noble, godly young men. One from Virginia said to me as he was dying: “Sing me a hymn.” I repeated, “Jesus, lover of my soul.” He remarked, “Where else but in Jesus can a poor sinner trust?” Just as he passed away, he looked up and said, “Heaven is so sweet to me;” and to the presence of Jesus he went.

Another from South Carolina seemed very happy, and sung with great delight, “Happy day, when Jesus washed my sins away.” Young B——, of Virginia, was resigned and even rejoiced at the near prospect of death. He repeated the line. “How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord.” His end was peace.

One of these young men had determined to enter the Christian ministry.

The scene described by Rev. Mr. Crumley, as he distributed among the soldiers, after one of the Maryland campaigns, the supplies sent forward by the Georgia Relief Association, one of the noblest institutions of the war, is truthful and touching:

After leaving Warrenton, I visited the wounded in private houses around the battle-field, where I very narrowly escaped being taken prisoner by the Yankees. In Winchester I found thousands of the wounded from Maryland crowded into churches, hotels, private houses and tents, in every imaginable state of suffering and destitution. Though kind words and prayers are good and cheering to the suffering, they could not relieve the terrible destitution. At length my anxious suspense was relieved by the coming of Mr. Selkirk, Dr. Camak and Rev. Mr. Potter, bringing supplies from the Georgia Relief and Hospital Association, which were in advance of anything from the Government. Their coming was clothing to the naked, medicine to the sick, and life to the dying. Could that little girl have been with us as we distributed the gifts of the association, and have seen the pleasure with which the heroic youth, who had made the Maryland campaign barefooted, drew on his rough and bruised feet the soft socks which she knit, no doubt she would knit another pair. Could that young lady have seen the grateful expression upon the face of that noble warrior, as, with lips parched with fever, he sipped the wine or tasted the pickles her hand had prepared, whispering, “God bless the ladies of Georgia;” or that

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