his pillow, and relieve his pain. How on the homeward journey their hearts came back to him, lying on the bare hospital bed, when the little white-curtained room at home was empty, and with all its comforts, and the plenty around, lone and unused.
Such visits were very frequent from the North, at the beginning of the war, but as the strangeness grew into a familiar thing, and it was nothing new to hear of "the boys" being ill in hospital, and later of suffering from wounds received in battle, the difficulty of reaching them increased, and many a poor fellow died, yearning for his mother, when in her heart agony she was denied the comfort of receiving his dying words.
The cruel war of the Rebellion taught many a strange, sad lesson to us all, it made tongues familiar with tales of starvation, and death in prisons, and wrought descriptions of wounds so horrible, that the heart and soul grew sick, remembering the comeliness of the young soldier, who, in his suit of blue, marched proudly away to the war, and now—Oh, the wreck of beauty and manliness is hard to dwell upon.
To vary the monotony of our life, sometimes, in company with some hospital visitor, we would go in an ambulance to Washington, and, of course, inspected the public buildings while there, as did every nurse and soldier whose time allowed the stroll.
Of course my eyes opened wide as they looked on pillar, and dome, and fresco, and gilding, and marble whiteness. I am not to attempt any formal description of what has been given in detail time and time
