e the winter wore away. Many a sad tale of the desolations of war was
poured into their ears, by the suffering Union women who had lost their
husbands, fathers, sons, in the wild warfare of the country in which
they lived. And many a scene of sorrow and suffering they witnessed.

In January, they had a pleasant call from Dr. M----, one of the friends
they had known at Gettysburg. This gentleman, in conversation with the
medical director, told him he knew two of the ladies there. The reply
illustrates the peculiar position in which they were placed. "Ladies!"
he answered with a sneer, "We have no ladies here! A hospital is no
place for a lady. We have some women here, who are cooks!"

But they remembered that one has said--"The lowest post of service is
the highest place of honor," and that Christ had humiliated himself to
wash the feet of his disciples.

In the latter part of the ensuing May, they went to Chattanooga. They
were most kindly received by the surgeons, and found much to be done.
Car-loads of wounded were daily coming from the front, all who could
bear removal were sent further north, and only the worst cases retained
at Chattanooga. They were all in good spirits, however, and rejoicing at
Sherman's successful advance--even those upon whom death had set his
dark seal.

Miss Dada often rejoiced, while here, in the kindness of her friends at
home, which enabled her to procure for the sick those small, but at that
place, costly luxuries which their condition demanded.

As the season advanced to glowing summer, the mortality became dreadful.
In her hospital alone, not a large one, and containing but seven hundred
beds, there were two hundred and sixty-one deaths in the month of June,
and there were from five to twenty daily. These were costly sacrifices,
often of the best, noblest, most promising,--for Miss Dada
records--"Daily I see devoted Christian youths dying on the altar of our
country."

With the beginning of November came busy times, as the cars daily came
laden with their freight of suffering from Atlanta. On the 26th, Miss
Dada records, "One year to-day since Hooker's men fought above the
clouds on Lookout. To-day as I look upon the grand old mountain the sun
shines brightly on the graves of those who fell there, and all is
quiet."

Again, after the gloomy winter had passed, she writes, in March, 1865,
"Many cases of measles are being brought in, mostly new soldiers, many
conscripts, and so dow