hemorrhage that could not be stopt came upon him, and to-day it still
continues at intervals. Notice that water-pail by the side of the bed,
with a quantity of blood and bloody pieces of muslin, nearly full;
that tells the story. The poor young man is struggling painfully for
breath, his great dark eyes with a glaze already upon them, and the
choking faint but audible in his throat. An attendant sits by him, and
will not leave him till the last; yet little or nothing can be done.
He will die here in an hour or two, without the presence of kith or
kin. Meantime the ordinary chat and business of[6] the ward a little
way off goes on indifferently. Some of the inmates are laughing and
joking, others are playing checkers or cards, others are reading, &c.

I have noticed through most of the hospitals that as long as there is
any chance for a man, no matter how bad he may be, the surgeon and
nurses work hard, sometimes with curious tenacity, for his life,
doing everything, and keeping somebody by him to execute the doctor's
orders, and minister to him every minute night and day. See that
screen there. As you advance through the dusk of early candle-light, a
nurse will step forth on tip-toe, and silently but imperiously forbid
you to make any noise, or perhaps to come near at all. Some soldier's
life is flickering there, suspended between recovery and death.
Perhaps at this moment the exhausted frame has just fallen into a
light sleep that a step might shake. You must retire. The neighboring
patients must move in their stocking feet. I have been several times
struck with such mark'd efforts--everything bent to save a life from
the very grip of the destroyer. But when that grip is once firmly
fix'd, leaving no hope or chance at all, the surgeon abandons the
patient. If it is a case where stimulus is any relief, the nurse gives
milk-punch or brandy, or whatever is wanted, _ad libitum_. There is no
fuss made. Not a bit of sentimentalism or whining have I seen about a