rity. He soon returned, but instead of water he held a book in his hand, and approaching the invalid he opened it and drew from his pocket a pencil.
"What is your name?"
"Prudon."
"Give it to me in full if you please; and have you any friends here, and where is your home?"
"Answer me one question first," replied the patient, now growing weak and irritable, "why are you so particular about all that?" So that, in case you die, you know, I may be able to write home for you."
Prudon began to feel that he was indeed booked for the next world, and looked at the small door cut through the thick adobe as the opening to his grave. He now asked to be taken in, for he was getting weak again, and was almost choked with thirst. The little man called two attendants, who took him up, and entering the door laid him on a bed. The room was about seventy feet in length by thirty in width, and contained nearly one hundred invalids in every stage of the disease. They were stretched on cots ranged in rows across the room. Some were groaning and some were cursing, but most of them lay quite still. They were cared for as well as might be at such a time and in such a place, but it was pitiful to see them lying there alone, and dying alone, and at such a fearful rate. For every morning when the attendant went round he was sure to find three or four of them cold and stiff, having died without a word, and apparently without a struggle. Of such the attendants merely straightened the limbs and covered the head with the blanket; then taking up the cot, they carried it out at the back door, put the bodies in a rough board coffin, and stacked them up to be carted away. Truly, never went men so far to find a death so sad.
Our Louisiana friend did not like this night dying, and so he took care to waken early in the morning, that he might not be carried out and boxed up asleep.
