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Poor Mahay, a mere boy in age, but old in misfortune. He found friends in his hospital life, and, indeed, was a universal favorite. He had quite a funeral ceremony. I must bear my most emphatic testimony to the zeal, manliness, and professional spirit and capacity, generally prevailing among the surgeons, many of them young men, in the hospitals and the army. They are full of genius, too.
G., lady-nurse, ward F, wants a bottle of brandy has two patients imperatively requiring stimulus low with wounds and exhaustion. Well, Poor John Mahay is dead. He died yesterday. He belonged to company A, 101st New York, and was shot through the lower region of the abdomen at second Bull Run, August, '62. One scene at his bedside will suffice for the agonies of nearly two years.
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