letter-paper, pen; nay, even amongst officers,
the loan of money.

Not long since, for instance, when I was
standing writing in my only room, an officer
entered, a perfect stranger to me, mentioned his
name, and gave in the most frank manner the
reason of his being there.

"I have not been out of my clothes for several
days," said he, "nor have had a chance of making
even the most needful toilet. I have now an
hour at my disposal, and hearing that a brother-
officer had his quarters here, could not resist
the desire of entreating your hospitality."

"With the greatest pleasure," I replied.
"Make yourself quite at home. Quick, Peter!
Fetch water, soap, a towel, and everything
else."

My stranger friend was soon in full career,
and I continued my writing. When he had
done, he found coffee and bread-and-butter set
before him. He had a piece of cheese of his
own, which he added to his meal. Then we
separated, perhaps never to meet again.

What more natural than that we should turn
to each other for such small services with the
entirest good faith? But, of a truth, we should
look in vain for the same good-fellowship in
trivial every-day life.

Now let me give you a sketch of

         OUR OLD HEAD-SURGEON

I had lately occasion, under very sorrowful
circumstances, to visit him. He was not
personally a stranger to me, for I had formerly
served in the same regiment with him; but it
seems that I understood very little of his real
character. I knew him only as a taciturn
disagreeable old fellow of a crabbed temper; so
much so, indeed, that I had already said, "He
is a pretty kind of doctor to send into the
field!"

Now, however, he appeared to me quite a
different man. There was an animation in his
eye, a kind of magnetic life, I might call it,
which electrified, as it were, all who came under
its influence. He was now exactly in his proper
element, moving about amongst the wounded,
who were being constantly brought in. I never
before saw the mere situation perform such a
miracle on a man. Heart, human sympathy,
tender compassion, and true religion, together
with the keen insight and experience of his
profession, seemed to rule every thought and action,
and to give expression to his countenance. One
of the assistant-surgeons, who saw my combined
astonishment and admiration as I watched his
movements, whispered in passing, "Is it not a
wonderful transformation?"

I stood beside a poor fellow who had just
been brought in severely wounded by a ball in
the breast. His eyes ceaselessly followed the
old head-surgeon. There was a straining anxiety
in his look which I interpreted as fear of death;
and a presentiment of its near approach. After
a little while, the old surgeon came up to the
wounded man. In a moment he cut off his
uniform, and laid bare the terrible wound. The
poor fellow stared wildly in his face without a
word. The doctor stroked his cheek tenderly,
and said, "Be of good courage, my child!"

The wound was very speedily dressed.

"Is it a dangerous wound, doctor?" asked
the poor soldier, in a tremulous voice.

"Pray to God, my son, and He will help
thee!" said the surgeon, in a voice that, seeming
to come from another world, touched the most
holy chords of the innermost being.

It seemed as if the anguish of his death-
stricken soul were at once dispersed. A
profound calm stole over his features. He pressed
warmly the hand which the surgeon put forth
towards him; a moment later clasped his own in
prayer, and his spirit had departed.

It was impossible for me to conceal my emotion.
A tear of tender compassion was in the
veteran's eye also, but the next moment he was
busy with another wounded man.

There was at no great distance a poor fellow,
frightfully injured in the lower part of the face,
who could not speak, yet was most anxious to
attract the doctor's attention, but his turn to be
attended to was not yet come. The ambulance
soldiers were bringing in the wounded, and the
old surgeon, sending a rapid glance along the
ghastly rows of bleeding and death-like men,
showed no preference. This poor fellow, therefore,
had to wait.

In a few seconds, however, he was kneeling
by his side, the wounded man making frightfully
ineffectual efforts to speak.

"Don't exert yourself, my son," said the
doctor; "I perfectly understand you. Now,
quietly shut your eyes and take a moment's
rest. Be assured of my being beside you, and
of my neglecting nothing."

The poor fellow was, as it were, magnetised.
All his disquiet was gone. He closed his eyes,
but he never more opened them in this world.

A soldier, whose thigh was fearfully shattered,
had, in the mean time, been brought in and placed
on a mattress. The wounded limb had already
been partially dressed and bound up, but the
blood still flowed on every side. He lay
bemoaning his fate.

"Unfortunate man that I am! I shall lose
my leg! Oh, what a misfortune!"

The old surgeon was by his side. As soon as
the poor fellow saw him, he exclaimed,

"Oh, Mr. Head-Surgeon, I shall lose my
leg!"

The doctor, without a word, rapidly uncovered
the limb and examined the wound. I watched
him. He put his forefinger to his forehead, and
seemed to meditate for a second or two. After
that, he poured out a little brandy, and said to
the despairing man,

"Who told you that you would lose your leg?"

"The under-surgeon, who dressed it, sir, told
me so," replied he.

"But I am the head-surgeon," returned the
good man, "and I tell you that you shall not
lose your leg—I promise you you shall not."

"But—I feel it," moaned the poor fellow;