bottom of the tin bucket. Not a drop could I get.  My caressing words and gentle remonstrances had not the slightest effect.  If it is possible for an animal to feel and show contempt, it was revealed in the gaze that cow cast upon me as she turned her head to observe my manoeuvres.  I had heard that some cows have a bad habit of holding back their milk.  Perhaps this was one of them.  I would try another.  Removing the stool to the side of another meek-looking animal, I essayed to milk her.  But she switched her tail in my face, lifting a menacing, horrid hoof. “Soh, bossy!” cried I.  “Pretty, pretty cow that makes pleasant milk to soak my bread.”  In another moment I was seated flat upon the ground, while my pretty, pretty cow capered wildly among the rest, so agitating them that, thinking discretion the better part of valor, I hastily climbed over the fence at the point nearest to me and returned to the kitchen.

What should I do now?  Perhaps one of the decrepit nurses left in the ward knew how to milk.  But no, they did not, except one poor, limping rheumatic who could only use one hand.  Just then a feeble-looking patient from the Bragg Hospital came tottering along.  He also knew how to milk, and they both, volunteered to try.  Much to my surprise and delight, the cows now behaved beautifully, perhaps owing to the fact that, obeying the injunctions of my two recruits, I provided each with a bundle of fodder to distract their attention during the milking process.  There was more milk than I could possibly use, as nearly all the convalescents were absent.  So I set several pans of it away, little thinking how soon it would be needed.

By the time all had been fed, I felt very weary; but it was midnight before I found a minute’s time to rest.

I had made frequent rounds through all the buildings of the hospital, each time finding some one who had need of me.  At last, wearied out by the excitement of the day, the sick grew quiet and inclined to sleep.  Released for a time, I sat down on the steps of my office to think and to listen:  for I did not know anything of the whereabouts of the enemy.  The town might have been surrendered.  At any moment the Federal soldiers might appear.  Just then, however, the streets were utterly deserted.  The stillness was oppressive.

If I could only discover a friendly light in one of these deserted dwellings.  Oh, for the sound of a kindly voice, the sight of a familiar face!

Doubtless there may have been some who had remained to protect their household gods, but they were women, and remained closely within doors.

Melancholy thoughts oppressed me.  Through gathering tears I gazed at the pale moon, whose light seemed faded and wan.  There came to me memories of the long-ago, when I had strayed among the orange-groves of my own dear home under a moonlight far more radiant, happy in loved companionship, listening with delight to the voices of the night, which murmured only of love and joy and hope, inhaling the perfume of a thousand flowers.  To-night, as the south wind swept by in fitful gusts, it seemed to bear to my ears the sound of sorrow and mourning from homes and shrines where hope lay dead amid the ruined idols cast down and broken by that stern iconoclast—­War.