was the thinnest cut crescent possible. It hung delicate just above
the sulky shadow of the Blue mountains. Ah, if it might prove an omen
and good prophecy for this unhappy State.


SUMMER OF 1864

I am back again in Washington, on my regular daily and nightly rounds.
Of course there are many specialties. Dotting a ward here and there
are always cases of poor fellows, long-suffering under obstinate
wounds, or weak and dishearten'd from typhoid fever, or the like;
mark'd cases, needing special and sympathetic nourishment. These I sit
down and either talk to, or silently cheer them up. They always like
it hugely, (and so do I.) Each case has its peculiarities, and needs
some new adaptation. I have learnt to thus conform--learnt a good deal
of hospital wisdom. Some of the poor young chaps, away from home for
the first time in their lives, hunger and thirst for affection; this
is sometimes the only thing that will reach their condition. The men
like to have a pencil, and something to write in. I have given them
cheap pocket-diaries, and almanacs for 1864, interleav'd with blank
paper. For reading I generally have some old pictorial magazines or
story papers--they are always acceptable. Also the morning or evening
papers of the day. The best books I do not give, but lend to read
through the wards, and then take them to others, and so on; they are
very punctual about returning the books. In these wards, or on the
field, as I thus continue to go round, I have come to adapt myself
to each emergency, after its kind or call, however trivial, however
solemn, every one justified and made real under its circumstances
--not only visits and cheering talk and little gifts--not only washing
and dressing wounds, (I have some cases where the patient is unwilling