dying heroes, and thought with pride how nobly the old Bay State had provided for her country in men and means, and how in times of battle the full streams of her Sanitary stores flowed into our crowded hospitals.
Many a dying message was given to me for faraway friends—many a last farewell was whispered in my ear for the dear wife and children, who knew not that death was even then snatching away one they loved, and for whom they prayed. How I wished for the power to bring them to the bedside, and then stand away where only my tears might mingle with the mourner's.
But War knows none of the comforts of peaceful death beds. No friends and family can watch with anxious eye the struggles of the soul to free itself from earth. War breaks down all the sweet charities which Peace nurtures into life, and dead men lie like dumb cattle in a slaughter-house, scarcely heeded, unless some tie of blood or spirit bound the living to the cold, inanimate corpse when life warmed it.
Beds and pillows were in plenty now, and we had good and sufficient food, while Sanitary supplied us with many a little dainty for our sick and exhausted soldiers. We were only just made comfortable, when another battle's shattered heroes were added to our hospital, and our regiment gave its quota to swell the list.
Through the growing corn—under the scorching summer sun, they had followed their noble general to face a determined foe, and many a one had got the
