in. But he burst into tears, saying, "Yes, my child, I am
very, very sick, but I must go on." Poor old man, with his snow-white
beard!

July 27th.

I have my bird back! As I waked this morning, I heard a well-known
chirp in the streets, and called to mother I knew it was Jimmy. Sure
enough it is my bird. Lucy Daigre has had him ever since the shelling,
as a negro caught it that day and gave it to her.

July 29th.

This town, with its ten thousand soldiers, is more quiet than it was
with the old population of seven thousand citizens. With this
tremendous addition, it is like a graveyard in its quiet, at times.
These poor soldiers are dying awfully. Thirteen went yesterday. On
Sunday the boats discharged hundreds of sick at our landing. Some lay
there all the afternoon in the hot sun, waiting for the wagon to carry
them to the hospital, which task occupied the whole evening. In the
mean time these poor wretches lay uncovered on the ground, in every
stage of sickness. Cousin Will saw one lying dead without a creature by
to notice when he died. Another was dying, and muttering to himself as
he lay too far gone to brush the flies out of his eyes and mouth, while
no one was able to do it for him. Cousin Will helped him, though.
Another, a mere skeleton, lay in the agonies of death, too; but he
evidently had kind friends, for several were gathered around holding
him up, and fanning him, while his son leaned over him crying aloud.
Tiche says it was dreadful to hear the poor boy's sobs. All day our
_vis-a-vis_, Baumstark, with his several aids, plies his hammer;
all day Sunday he made coffins, and says he can't make them fast
enough. Think, too, he is by no means the only undertaker here! Oh, I
wish these poor men were safe in their own land! It is heartbreaking to
see them die here like dogs, with no one to say Godspeed. The Catholic
priest went to see some, sometime ago, and going near one who lay in
bed, said some kind thing, when the man burst into tears and cried,
"Thank God, I have heard _one_ kind word before I die!" In a few
minutes the poor wretch was dead.

July 31st.

I believe I forgot to mention one little circumstance in my account of
that first night at the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, which at the time struck
me with extreme disgust. That w