* * * * *
I cannot describe my life as hospital nurse: it was just passing from one scene of suffering to another; and I had not realized that there _could_ be so much misery in this bright, beautiful world. At first I used to tremble and faint; but finally the intense desire to _do_ something for these poor, mutilated wrecks of humanity conquered the weakness; and I even wondered at my own self-control.
There were pleasant gleams, too, in this life, of utter self-abandonment; blessings from fever-parched lips; grateful looks from dying eyes; pleased attention to holy words; and, wrapping all like a halo, the thought that I was working in very deed, ay, and battling, too, for the glorious flag that floated over my head.
They were constantly bringing in fresh patients, and the sight roused no curiosity; but one day, such a ghastly face was upturned to view, as they placed the shattered body tenderly on a cot, that, involuntarily, I bent closer.
'Awful things, those Minie wounds,' observed a young surgeon who stood near me; and then, as he went on to describe how the horrible ball revolves in the lacerated flesh, I suddenly caught a full view of the features, over which the shadow of death seemed to have settled, and fainted dead away.
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