Lieut. M. is extremely weak and nervous,, and the wild ravings of J. C. disturb him exceedingly. I requested Surgeon P. to have him removed to a more quiet ward, and received in reply—'This is the most quiet ward in the whole building.' There are live hundred patients here who require constant attention, and not half enough nurses to take care of them.
"Oh, what an amount of suffering I am called to witness every hour and every moment. There is no cessation, and yet it is strange that the sight of all this suffering and death does not affect me more. I am simply eyes, ears, hands and feet. It does seem as if there is a sort of stoicism granted for such occasions. There are great, strong men dying all around me, and while I write there are three being carried past the window to the dead room. This is an excellent hospital—everything is kept in good order, and the medical officers are skillful, kind and attentive."
The weary weeks went slowly by, while disease and death preyed upon the men, and the " Soldiers' Cemetery" was being quickly filled with new made graves. The kindness of the soldiers toward each other is proverbial, and is manifested in various ways. It is a common thing to see soldiers stand guard night after night for sick comrades —and when off duty try, to the utmost of their skill, to prepare their food in such a way as to tempt the appetite of those poor fellows whom the sur-
