Diary of a Southern Refugee, Judith White McGuire.

15th.—In Richmond, to-day, I saw my old friend, Mrs. E. R. C, looking after her sons. One was reported “wounded;” the other “missing.” This sad word may mean that he is a prisoner; it may mean worse. She can get no clue to him. His company has not come, and she is very miserable. Two mothers, one from Georgia, another from Florida, have come on in pursuit of their sons, and are searching the hospitals for them. They were not in our hospital, and we could give them no information, so they went on to others. There is more unhappiness abroad among our people than I have ever seen before. Sometimes I wish I could sleep until it is over—a selfish wish enough; but it is hard to witness so much sorrow which you cannot alleviate.