he silence,
our handkerchiefs were more eloquent than words. She soon sobbed
herself quiet; and leaving her on my bed, I went back to work, feeling
much refreshed by the shower, though I'd forgotten to rest, and had
washed my face instead of my hands. I mention this successful
experience as a receipt proved and approved, for the use of any nurse
who may find herself called upon to minister to these wounds of the
heart. They will find it more efficacious than cups of tea,
smelling-bottles, psalms, or sermons; for a friendly touch and a
companionable cry, unite the consolations of all the rest for
womankind; and, if genuine, will be found a sovereign cure for the
first sharp pang so many suffer in these heavy times.

I am gratified to find that my little Sergeant has found favor in
several quarters, and gladly respond to sundry calls for news of him,
though my personal knowledge ended five months ago. Next to my good
John--I hope the grass is green above him, far away there in
Virginia!--I placed the Sergeant on my list of worthy boys; and many
jovial chat have I enjoyed with the merry-hearted lad, who had a fancy
for fun, when his poor arm was dressed. While Dr. P. poked and
strapped, I brushed the remains of the Sergeant's brown mane--shorn
sorely against his will--and gossiped with all my might, the boy making
odd faces, exclamations, and appeals, when nerves got the better of
nonsense, as they sometimes did:

"I'd rather laugh than cry, when I must sing out anyhow, so just say
that bit from Dickens again, please, and I'll stand it like a man." He
did; for "Mrs. Cluppins," "Chadband," and "Sam Weller," always helped
him through; thereby causing me to lay another offering of love and
admiration on the shrine of the god of my idolatry, though he does wear
too much jewelry and talk slang.

The Sergeant also originated, I believe, the fashion of calling his
neighbors by their afflictions instead of their names; and I was rather
taken aback by hearing them bandy remarks of this sort, with perfect
good humor and much enjoyment of the new game.

"Hallo, old Fits is off again!" "How are you, Rheumatiz?" "Will you
trade apples, Ribs?" "I say, Miss P. may I give Typus a drink of this?"
"Look here, No Toes, lend us a stamp, there's a good feller," etc. He
himself was christened "Baby B.," because he tended his arm on a little
pillow, and called it his infant.

Very fussy about his grub was Sergeant B., and much trotting of