rse strove in vain
to soothe him. In the daytime a quieter kind of crying would satisfy
him. There was nothing but talking about his home that would bring a
gleam of gladness to his disconsolate countenance. Every time that the
lady in charge of the ward left him was the occasion of a trembling lip
and tearful eyes. At last it was proposed to treat him as if he were a
child. "Now you must try and be a good boy, Joseph, and when you wake up
not make such a noise and disturb the men; if you are quiet, you shall
have something nice given you in the morning." This was a good-night
promise. The experiment succeeded; for on our going into the ward in the
morning, he said, "I have been real good, and only woke the men up
once." And then he wondered what he should get. An orange satisfied his
most ardent expectations; and then a promise of something more at noon,
and again at night, if he continued his improved behavior, kept him
happier through the day. This system was followed up for a few days,
when he recovered his spirits, and was able to rejoin his regiment in a
short time.

Where nostalgia was the only complaint, it would yield, but was almost
hopeless if disease had undermined the constitution. There were two boys
about seventeen years old in one ward, both dolefully sad, and pining
continually for home and familiar faces. One was from Tennessee, the
other from Connecticut. They were equally low, being among the worst
cases from prison life. The father of one came to him; the sister whom
the other talked constantly about could not even hear from him, the
Rebels cutting off postal communication. The evening West's father came,
he seemed nearer death than the little Tennesseean, but his father's
presence saved his life; he quickly rallied, the pressure of his
melancholy was removed by hearing a home voice, his appetite returned,
his strength was restored. But the other boy sank lower and lower in
despondency for which there was no remedy; and the last words he spoke
were of his sister,--he would be content to die if he could only see her
once more.

The enlivening music of a fine band was added this spring to the
hospital organization. For an hour every morning and evening its
animating strains stirred the martial spirit in the worn-out and
suffering, and brought cheer and courage to hours of loneliness. The
little "Knapsack," too, was merged into a printed sheet called "The
Crutch," the weekly publication of which furn