Just here, reader, before I tell you who this excellent gentleman was, pardon a slight digression. Did it ever occur to you that one who has lost a limb in the service of his country, finds it necessary to answer “a question or two” now and then—to put it mildly—for some time after his return? He is looked upon as public property, and is almost bored to death with questions, by the many curious strangers he meets. No one who has not experienced it, can imagine what a nuisance this quizzing is. I can never have a moment’s rest in any public place. I no sooner take a seat in a car, restaurant, or lecture-room, than my right-hand or left-hand lady or gentleman commences. I give below an impartial list of the questions they ask, and which I, at first, answered with pride and pleasure; but which, however, after I had answered them a few hundred thousand times, grew rather stale. Here they are: they have been asked me so often, as to become stereotyped upon my heart and brain: Did you lose your limb in battle? What battle? Did a cannon ball take it off? A rifle ball, eh? Did it knock it clear off? Did it sever an artery? Did it hit the bone? Did it break it? Did you afterward find the ball? Was it crushed out of shape? Did you fall when hit? Did you walk off the field? Who carried you off? Did you feel much pain? How long after you were wounded till it was amputated? Who performed the operation? Did you take chloroform? Did it put you to sleep? And didn’t you feel the operation? Not even the sawing of the bone? Could not your limb have been saved? Was it taken off right where the wound was? Can you wear an artificial leg? Would the Government furnish it if you could? Do you draw a pension? How much? How old are you? What is your name? What did you do before the war? Don’t you often wish you hadn’t lost your leg? How does a person feel with a leg off? Does it ache when the weather changes? Would you rather lose a leg than an arm? I have heard persons say that an amputated limb still feels as if it were on—is that so? How do you account for that? All these questions, dear public, I have answered thousands of times, and may have to answer thousands of times yet, if my miserable existence is lengthened out for many years. Imagine how it must torment me! The same old questions, to me long since devoid of interest, I must meekly answer, over and again, day by day, week by week, year by year! How would you like to commence and repeat the A B C’s five thousand times every day, as long as you live?—Be pleasant, wouldn’t it?