Then I was placed beside the cot of Mr. (or Captain) Boyd, of Mecklenburg, and was admonished by the matron not to leave him alone. He was the most patient sufferer in the world--gentle, courteous, always considerate, never complaining. "Are you in pain, Captain?" "No, no," he would say gently. One day when I returned from my "rest," I found the matron sitting beside him. She motioned me to take her place, and then added, "No, no; I will not leave him." The captain's eyes were closed, and he sighed wearily at intervals. Presently he whispered slowly: "There everlasting spring abides;" then sighed, and seemed to sleep for a moment. The matron felt his pulse and raised a warning hand. The sick man's whisper went on: "Bright fields beyond the swelling flood, Stand dressed in living green;" and in a moment more the Christian soldier had crossed the river and lain down to rest under the trees. Each of the battles of those seven days brought a harvest of wounded to our hospital. I used to veil myself closely as I walked to and from my hotel, that I might shut out the dreadful sights in the streets--the squads of prisoners, and worst of all, the open wagons in which the dead were piled. Once I did see one of these dreadful wagons. In it a stiff arm was raised, and shook as it was driven down the street, as though the dead owner appealed to Heaven for vengeance--a horrible sight, never to be forgotten. After one of the bloody battles--I know not if it was Gaines' Mill or Frazier's Farm or Malvern Hill--A splendid young officer, Colonel Brokenborough, was taken to our hospital, shot almost to pieces. He was borne up the stairs and placed in a cot--his broken limbs in supports swinging from the ceiling. The wife of General Mahone and I were permitted to assist in nursing him. A young soldier from the camp was detailed to help us, and a clergyman was in constant attendance, coming at night that we might have rest. Our patient held a court in his corner of the hospital. Such a dear, gallant, cheery fellow, handsome, and with a grand air even as he lay prostrate. Nobody ever heard him complain. He would welcome us in the morning with the brightest smile. His aid said, "He watches the head of the stairs and calls up that look for your benefit." "Oh," he said one day, "you can't guess what's going to happen. Some ladies have been here and left all these roses, and cologne, and such; and somebody has sent champagne. We are going to have a party." Ah! but we knew he was very ill. We were bidden to watch him every minute and not be deceived by his own spirits. Mrs. Mahone spent her life hunting for ice. My constant care was to keep his canteen--to which he clung with affection--filled with fresh water from a spring not far away, and I learned to give it to him so well that I allowed no one to lift his head for his drink during my hours.