New Orleans (also my own beloved home).  The impulse of self-sacrifice, and of chivalrous devotion towards the helpless and suffering, sprung from a heart pulsating with the knightly blood of the Creole of Louisiana.  Ah, that impetuous blood which stirred at the first call to arms, which was poured out in continual libations to Southern liberty, from the time it gushed from the breast of the first martyr of the war (our Charlie Dreux), until almost in the “last ditch,” piled high with masses of Confederate dead, lay the gory body of Edgar Dreux, the very topmost man, proving how invincible was the courage that quailed not at the sight of that ghastly altar of sacrifice!

The large brick court-house in the centre of the town of Ringgold was especially devoted to my use.  The court-room occupying the entire upper floor was fitted up for fifty patients.  This was facetiously called “the nursery,” and its occupants “Mrs. Beers’s babies.”  In this ward were placed, as far as its capacity permitted, patients who needed to be visited very often, and for whose proper nourishment and the prompt administration of medicine I was responsible.  For instance, if one of the fever-patients was taking veratrum, I must see it dropped and given, and note the pulse.  If one was just struggling through dysentery, I must attend to his nourishment, and generally fed him myself.  Down-stairs was one large room, and three of good size, but smaller.  The large one was also a ward.  My business-room opposite was also the linen-room of the hospital.  Shelves ran from floor to ceiling, a counter in front of them.  In one corner stood my desk, and beside it a large country rocking-chair; in another a rough lounge for the convenience of visiting patients.  In front of the immense fireplace (where there was always a cheerful fire) stood a table and chairs for the surgeons, who came in after each round through the wards, to leave special directions and diet-lists.  Through the day this room was a cheerful place.  I seldom entered it without finding one or more visitors, especially in the morning, when the surgeons always met there, and their wives generally joined them.  On the other side of the hall was the distributing-room in one corner, in the other a store-room, where, also, under my own lock and key, I kept the effects of dead soldiers, labelled and ready for identification by their friends.  I was assisted in this work, in keeping the linen-room in order, and in various other ways, by a young German who had been detailed for that purpose.  He was a well-educated young man and a fine musician,—­in fact, had been a professor of music before the war, had entered the service intelligently, desiring to remain in active service, but some disability caused his detail.  His position was no sinecure:  he was expected to keep a full account of all stores in my department, all bedding, hospital clothing, all clothing of the patients, and a great many other things, having full charge of the laundry and the