wounded. In Kilpatrick's celebrated raid, when | Bayles, Acting Assistant-Surgeon, is the very near Richmond, his knee was dreadfully shattered by a bullet. With almost superhuman fortitude he kept his saddle for thirty hours without medical aid. He at length reached the hospital, and for weary weeks was a helpless sufferer upon his cot. One day the youthful wife of the chaplain went in with an entertaining book to read to him at his bedside. There were many patients in the ward. As she read one drew near, listening and lingering, and then another, and another, until she was surrounded by a silent, attentive group, whose sorrows and pains were for a time beguiled by the charms of a wild and wondrous tale. Though these hospitals, under the care of Dr. M'Clellan, are doubtless managed with more than ordinary ability, there are unquestionably many others, which it has not been my privilege to visit, which are conducted essentially on the same principles. I spent a few days at a small hospital at Morehead City, North Carolina, under the care of Dr. J. B. Belangée, which is a perfect gem. Never have I seen in this country or Europe an establishment of its kind which surpassed it. It certainly approaches very near perfection. Thus far I have spoken mainly of the Hampton Hospital. The Chesapeake Hospital, which is situated at its side, separated only by a narrow creek, which is crossed by a bridge and a railroad, may now be considered as a branch of the same institution, as both are under the same surgeon in charge, Dr. M'Clellan. Dr. George efficient executive officer of this institution. The Chesapeake Hospital is a very essential, almost a necessary adjunct to the Hampton. Its main building is far more imposing in its architectural structure. Its situation is enchanting, almost beyond description. Its wellfurnished apartments afford exceedingly attractive rooms for officers who seek seclusion. Its broad, majestic veranda presents a promenade where beauty only meets the eye. The building is provided with every comfort. One of Ericsson's caloric engines fills massive tanks near the roof with water, so that there is an abundant supply in each story for bathingrooms and all other wants. This building will probably hereafter be mainly used for sick and wounded officers. The building was originally erected for a young ladies' school. It was used for that purpose until the madness of treason desolated the homes of Virginia. In the admirable picture which accompanies this description, and which is from the artistic pencil of Dr. Bayles, there is exhibited the main building, the star-wards, and the chapel. The whole hospital, with its external wards and wellprovided tents, will accommodate between eleven and twelve hundred patients. There is also a picturesque group of tents upon the ground which accommodate two companies of the Veteran Reserve Corps. These men, about 150 in number, are detailed to perform guard duty, to enforce police regulations, and to serve as attendants in every department of the institution. Captain J. R. Stone is the efficient commander | painful the mind can contemplate, I feel that no of this force. If in the evening of any day you go into the wards of one of the hospitals in Flanders you will see, by the dim light of the tall tapers, the Flemish nuns, called Beguines, religiously consecrated as nurses for the sick. As they noiselessly glide about, in their dark dresses and their white cowls, you are oppressed as by the apparition of something unearthly-as though corpses, in their grave-clothes, had come to minister to the sick and the dying. But they are noble women, gentle nurses, who, perhaps with hearts saddened by some irreparable grief, have offered themselves, with monastic rigors of self-denial, as living sacrifices to God to serve humanity. They deserve the world's respect and love. The "Sœurs de la Charité," in France, have bound themselves with vows still more severe, to renounce all the pleasures of life save the pleasure of relieving distress. These "Sisters of Charity" who, after a year's novitiate, take upon themselves irrevocable vows, are seen every hour of the day and of the night gliding among the beds of all the hospitals in Paris and in France. The consecrated nurse, in her black gown and white hood, is a ministering angel amidst heart-rending scenes. Every generous spirit will render her the homage of respect and affection. country upon this globe, and that no age of this world, and that no form of religion has produced a nobler class than that of the philanthropic women of Protestant America. In our hospitals can be found not a few ladies of wealth and culture-women who can minister better at the bed of sickness because their hearts are kept warm, and all their sympathies are enlivened, by the influences of social life. In the Chesapeake Hospital there are, at the present time, five ladies who would be classed in Flanders as Beguines, and in France as Sisters of Charity. They are Mrs. Mary B. Dullywho is chief of the department of nurses-Miss Ella Wolcott, Miss J. E. Bently, Miss Mary A. C. Johnson, and Mrs. D. W. Holt. This number will soon be increased. A great battle is soon expected, and all the wards are prepared for the awful results which even victory must secure. Mrs. Ann Burtis is the very efficient head of the nurses' department in the Hampton Hospital, having served there, with great acceptance, from the time of its organization. The chaplain of this hospital, the Rev. James Marshall, has devoted all the enthusiasm of his nature to making provision for the intellectual and spiritual wants of the patients. The subjoined sketch will show the beautiful chapel he has reared through the contributions of liberal friends in the North. Attached to the chapel Our own hospitals have their Sisters of Chari- is a reading-room, of the interior of which we ty, who with zeal not less ardent, with love not also give a sketch. Here the soldier can come less pure, with self-sacrifice not less Christ-like, at any hour and have access to many of the leadbathe the brow, and wash the feet, and dress the ing periodicals of the day. There is a good wounds, and close the eyes in death of their supply of valuable books in all the various brother-man. To my heart they are nearer branches of literature, theology, and science. and dearer, in that they are not nuns but wo- These can be taken into the wards, being caremen. As I have seen some mother-loving boy fully charged to the one who takes them. As I look up from his pillow, upon a face beaming was examining the library, accompanied by Mr. with kindness, and say, "Mother;" as I hear Marshall, he pointed me to the bound volumes them called by the affectionate terms of "Lady" of Harper's Magazine, as a curiosity, saying or "Sister;" as I have seen them smiling through that there were no books sought for so eagerly their tears, triumphing over sleeplessness and as those. Though they had evidently been used exhaustion, and performing duties the most with the utmost care, every page gave evidence of the interest with which it had been perused. The volumes stood there proudly, in military array, like war-worn veterans. Rev. Mr. Marshall has been connected with this hospital two years. He has consecrated the dew of his youth to the noble work of soothing pain, of cheering the disconsolate, of feeding Christ's lambs, of guiding wanderers to the fold. The cassock, the frock, the bare or sandaled foot, the cloister, and the beads add no lustre to such heroism. Hampton Hospital was organized on the 14th August, 1862. The first patients were received from the Army of the Potomac in its march from Harrison's Landing to reinforce General Pope's army. From that time to the 26th of April, 1864, the number of patients received and treated has been 6540. Of these 216 have died; 1049 have been discharged, but on account of disability have been transferred to the Veteran Reserve Corps, or to serve in other hospitals; 4491 have been cured and returned to duty; 784 now remain in hospital. I write these closing lines in one of the most beautiful mornings of early May. My window at the Chesapeake opens upon the green and velvety lawn, sprinkled with sheep. Beyond is the bay smooth as glass crowded with gunboats and transports. Every ship upon the mirrored waters seems to float double-keel meeting keel. Our gorgeous banner, drooping from the flag-staff, scarcely opens its folds. The bleating of the sheep, the plaintive cry of the sea-bird, the enchanting beauty of ocean and sky and land, all present a scene which Eden could hardly have rivaled. What a happy world might this be if man would be the brother of his fellow-man! A few leagues from this peaceful spot nearly three hundred thousand men are mustering all their energies for the gage of battle. Foul treason would destroy our nation, and with it destroy the hopes of humanity. Patriotism has listened to the cry of imperiled liberty, and sadly, yet resolutely, has abandoned all the conThree days after writing the above sentence genial walks of an industrial life and girded herthe numbers in the hospital were swollen to self for the conflict. The dreadful crash of arms over two thousand, sent from the Yorktown soon must come. These floors may then be army, stripping for the fight. It is not improb- crimsoned with dripping blood. These beds able that within a few days five thousand wound- may all be filled with the pallid, the maimed, ed men may be sent to these grounds. The the dying; these wards may then resound with Chesapeake Hospital will accommodate about the sighs of those who shall never see father or twelve hundred. But in times of great emerg- mother, brother or sister, wife or child again. ency many more must be crowded into its The rooms are all ready; the beds are all made; wards. The following picture of patients from the surgeon's tools are all polished and keenly Yorktown, landing at the wharf in Hampton, is sharp; the bandages are all prepared; the surtaken from the life. By the kindness of Dr. geons, the nurses, the attendants are waiting at M'Clellan the group was arrested for a moment their posts. The awful hour soon must come. that the artist might photograph the scene. It is dreadful! O Lord, how long! how long! IT THE BEND. nuther," growled a half-drunken workman, as he watched it roll. Deane stooped to pick up the thimble, then sat down to whittle at a pine stick, without taking any part in the conversation. The men looked askance at him among them, for Mr. Deane was a director and held with some respect, then went on talking. 66 hardly deserved the name of village, but was only a cluster of houses, hiding in the thick woods which filled the valley and crept upward on either side to cover the Tennessee hills. The lumber-merchants had found out these forests, caring little, indeed, for the peace of their untrodden wilds, or the beauty of their gnarled boughs, which were festooned with the growth of rich, rank mosses, and caught the sunlight here and there through the dense foliage. But the trunks were large and sturdy, and the little stream which wet their roots flowed to-ance of two negroes, whom he carried with him ward the city, so, one by one, the houses of the settlers dotted the clearing, and the timber floated lazily down the river. Two or three farmers, agents, and directors from Knoxville, together with the workmen both black and white, comprised the little colony. It was growing, however, and in its pride boasted a red building with large front windows, filled with apples and calico, butter, tin-ware, flour, sugar, candy, and rum, which it dignified by the title of "store." This was the trysting-place of all lovers and gossips, all politicians and loafers; it was the Opera; it was Exchange; it was Broadway for the settlement. They were gathered there as usual on the evening of which I speak, and Richard Deane, who stood among them waiting for his turn to complete a purchase, watched them idly, taking little or no interest in their proceedings, except to keep an eye on two or three of his men who would soon unfit themselves at the rum-counter for to-morrow's work if he did not interfere. The women, in their green-checked sun-bonnets, were clustered around a new pattern of calico which the last boat had brought from the city. The young people enjoyed their flirtations out on the steps, whither they had repaired "to see the sunset." The men lounged against the counter and flour - barrels, smoking their pipes. He found himself listening at last to their conversation, which had grown somewhat loud, and jarred against his ear. "There hain't never been such times up to the Bend sence I've ben here," said a rough voice. "All the bisness a'most stopped, and perwisions risin' agin a fellar's grit, dreadful; and draftin' goin' on within ten mile on us, and says I to Melindy, says I, 'Wher's to come the end ?"" "Where, indeed?" piped an old woman's voice from the calico corner. "We shall all die like the Injins in cold bloody murder, with them battles and sojers tearin' through the country and we shet up here atween the mountains." 'They were agoin' to stan' up fur their own, they were; and hadn't a man a right to his own niggers without them tarnal Abolitionists stepping in to say he shouldn't"—this from the Aristocrat of the Bend, who boasted an inherit on exhibition wherever he went, to the great envy of the settlers. His sentiments were loudly echoed. One man upheld him enthusiastically. "He would like to see them derned Yankees whipped out o' these mountains—every scoundrel of 'em." Deane had whittled his stick to such a point that it broke in his hands; he threw it away and looked up at the speaker, with his eyes flashing. "If there's any shame in you, Joe Carey, your cheeks ought to blush for that." "Why now, really!" replied the man, with a coarse laugh, "do you think so, Mr. Deane? What should I be ashamed on?" "Of being a traitor to the best Government that ever protected thankless rebels so many years as ours has." "I'm a traitor, am I, Mr. Deane ?" "You heard what I said," he replied, quietly. There were whispers of "he's a Yankee" passing from mouth to mouth. He looked up and smiled. "Yes," he said, "I am a Yankee." "And an Abolitionist ?" said some one in a louder tone. "And an Abolitionist." "I wish you was along with 'em, you'd find out which be traitors then, Mr. Deane," said Joe Carey, sullenly. Deane silenced him with a look. He then took his package and went out of the store, stopping to leave directions with a group of men about to-morrow's work. There was one girl on the steps who looked up into his face timidly as she moved aside to let him pass. She was a slight, shrinking creature, with a sun-bonnet almost concealing her freckled face with its bands of dark reddish hair, its timid mouth, and large hazel eyes. She had stood just in the doorway, leaning against the open blind, for a long time, with the sunset painting bars of golden light through it on her dark dress, but never reaching her face, which was turned away toward Richard Deane all the time he talked. He had seen her earnest gaze once, and had nodded to her with a kind smile; then he forgot she was there. "They could starve us clean out as easy as that," said another, snapping her fingers by way of illustration, so that her brass thimble rolled She watched him now as he stood talking to off on the floor and was lost to view among the the men out by the pump, straightening his barrels. manly figure, and tossing the hair back from "And 'tain't Tennessee as is to blame for it, his forehead to let the wind cool it. She might have stood so five minutes, it might have been fifteen, she could not tell, when she was startled by a pull at her sleeve. It was a little negro boy, who stood there grinning from ear to ear. "Why, Tom, what do you want?" "She say Misse Hetty come home right off short." And the boy jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the origin of the command. "Yes," replied the girl, "I'll come." Her face, which had brightened a moment ago like one taking in the charm of a beautiful picture, relapsed into its old lifelessness. Bidding the boy follow her in an humbled tone, as if she had no right to give a command, she sighed, went down the steps slowly, and walked away. Seeing that Tom did not follow her, she turned round to call him. He was standing on the steps with Joe Carey, whose eyes, fixed on Deane, were gleaming wrathfully through the shaggy hair which fell over his forehead. "Tom!" "Yes, I'se comin', Misse Hetty." She moved along a step or two, but Tom remained stationary. So she spoke again, this time peremptorily. "Lor', Misse Hetty, what a hurry you am in!" said Tom, rolling his eyes, and putting his hands in his pockets. "Missus said I was gwine for to get some rope to halter de nag-t'other's broke." "Tom, come this minute!" And, good as his word, Tom seized the bundle, and with a broad grin at Hetty, intended probably for confession of sin, started off, and was soon over the wall and out of sight. "Well, Hetty, your aunt doesn't give you any rest, does she?" "Oh yes, Sir, sometimes. I ain't her own, you know. I do wish once in a while-" "Well, what is it?" "Oh, nothing, Sir. I didn't mean to trouble you, only sometimes I should like it to see a picture or something to show me what mother was like." "Poor little thing!" And Deane looked at her compassionately as she walked so meekly by his side, with her face hidden in the shadow of her bonnet. She looked up at last in a halffrightened way. "I-I don't know what made me, Mr. Deane. I didn't mean to talk so; it was very wrong in me, and then I had so much else to say to youhow could I be so selfish?" His merry laugh did not drive away the cloud on her face. "Perhaps you'll think me very silly," she said, with her head drooping a little, “but I am afraid. I wish you needn't have to talk about the war and all that. If you'd seen Joe Carey-" 66 "What of him?" said Deane, carelessly. "Oh, such a look as he had when you went out to the pump there! I don't know-they're all so dreadful rough they wouldn't mind doing They don't seem to mind the old flag one bit. Uncle talks so sometimes about—about men who feel as you do that I can't bear it. And then I get thinking-" "And der's some 'bacca, too, as Massa's been in de most distress for-I'se got dat to get." Poor Hetty gave up in despair, and was turn-any thing, and every body here hates the North. ing away without him, when Carey, who apparently had not noticed the boy before, stopped in the midst of his sullen talk with the Aristocrat and the drunken workman, who were smoking at the door, and giving the boy a kick which landed him in the sand below, told him, with an oath, "to go 'long with his mistress, and not be sneakin' round him." Tom picked himself up, looking rather crestfallen for the moment, but there was a sly wink in his eye as he walked meekly by Hetty's side which she noticed. "Tom, what does ail you?" she said. "Lor', nothin', Misse Hetty. I was a sinful nigger to be botherin' you-I'se respectable now." But though he followed her obediently, he rubbed his hands with such apparent delight, and chuckled and rolled his eyes so mysteriously, that Hetty felt serious fears for the genuineness of his repentance, and was just delivering him a little lecture on it, in her grave way, when she heard footsteps behind them, and almost before she knew it some one had taken her heavy bundle from her hand and was walking by her side. "Six quarts of meal-and you such a little thing! Tom, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to let Miss Hetty carry such a bundle." "Dat's a fac'," said Tom, solemnly. "If you'll gib it to me I'll go it cross lots, and run wid it all de way to make up 'counts square." "That I shall be spirited off by those fellows some night? Why, Hetty, what a foolish little creature?" Something in his bantering tone brought a change into her face-it was partly pain, partly resolve; and when she spoke again it was with a womanly firmness in her voice. "I knew you would say so. I don't know very much about these things, but I am quite sure you are not safe here." Deane's face grew grave, but he was not thinking of the words she said; it was only a certain soothing in her quiet tones that stirred to the surface some thoughts that had been hidden. "Hetty," he said, suddenly, "I can't stand this much more, they goad me so with their traitorous words; it must end." "End?" turning her face up in a frightened way. "I must go away from here. If I could get up North among loyal people I should be happy." Hetty stooped to pick a daisy, and began pulling it to pieces nervously: she made no answer. "If I could only fight!" he went on, passionately-"if I could fight! It seems so hard." Unconsciously he held out his right hand, with |