fresh
underclothes. He entered with a huge haversack slung over his shoulder,
full of appropriate articles, with parcels under his arms, and protuberant
pockets. He would sometimes come in summer with a good-sized basket filled
with oranges, and would go round for hours paring and dividing them among
the feverish and thirsty.]

Of his devotion to the wounded soldiers there are many witnesses. A
well-known correspondent of the "New York Herald" writes thus about him in
April, 1876:--

"I first heard of him among the sufferers on the Peninsula after a battle
there. Subsequently I saw him, time and again, in the Washington
hospitals, or wending his way there, with basket or haversack on his arm,
and the strength of beneficence suffusing his face. His devotion surpassed
the devotion of woman. It would take a volume to tell of his kindness,
tenderness, and thoughtfulness.

"Never shall I forget one night when I accompanied him on his rounds
through a hospital filled with those wounded young Americans whose heroism
he has sung in deathless numbers. There were three rows of cots, and each
cot bore its man. When he appeared, in passing along, there was a smile of
affection and welcome on every face, however wan, and his presence seemed
to light up the place as it might be lighted by the presence of the God of
Love. From cot to cot they called him, often in tremulous tones or in
whispers; they embraced him; they touched his hand; they gazed at him. To
one he gave a few words of cheer; for another he wrote a letter home; to
others he gave an orange, a few comfits, a cigar, a pipe and tobacco, a
sheet of paper or a postage-stamp, all of which and many other things were
in his capacious haversack. From another he would receive a dying message
for mother, wife, or sweetheart; for another he would promise to go an
errand; to another, some special friend very low, he would give a manly
farewell kiss. He did the things for them no nurse or doctor could do, and
he seemed to leave a benediction at every cot as he passed along. The
lights had gleamed for hours in the hospital that night before he left it,
and, as he took his way towards the door, you could hear the voices of
many a stricken hero calling, 'Walt, Walt, Walt! come again! come again!'"

III

Out of that experience in camp and hospital the pieces called "Drum-Taps,"
first published in 1865,--since merged in his "Leaves,"--were produced.
Their descriptions and pictures,