our feet. At this the jug was seized by the inspector, amid shouts of
"Good, good," and the laughter of the crowd, with muttering and
swearing by the Irish woman. She hastened out of the crowd, leaving
her pail and jug behind her.

At the Soldiers' Home we found Samantha Plummer and her excellent
assistant. The following three days we spent in visiting hospitals.
Hospital No. 2 was miserably cared for. The matron was a Southern
woman, who had lost her husband in the Confederate army, but she
professed to be a Union woman, and said her husband would never have
gone on that side but for compulsion. Our officers seemed to pity her
and her two daughters, and gave them a home in the hospital. The
mother held the position of nurse, but not one of the three was a
suitable person to be there. The sick and wounded soldiers did not
look as if their beds or apparel had been changed in two weeks. The
floor was filthy, and the scent was sufficient to sicken well people.
From the appearance of the wash-boiler, running over with dried apples
that were being boiled without care, I judged every thing to be done
after the same style. I inquired of one of the convalescents in the
yard when their supper hour was, and proposed to return to see how the
brethren fared. Sister Backus was rather fearful I might make matters
worse, as they might suspect we had an object in revisiting the
hospital so soon; but we were on hand to see the burned and sour
biscuits dealt out to those sick and wounded soldiers, with the half-
stewed apples, and a choice given between rancid butter and a poor
quality of black molasses. I hoped to see something better when the
pail with a spout appeared, out of which was turned a substance half
way between pudding and porridge, I asked if it was farina. "It's corn
meal mush," and mush it was, running all through whatever was on the
plate. I passed from one plate to another, tasting the biscuits and