which was occupied by Sore Mouth, up stairs, and in less time than I take to write it out to you, Davie was carried up there. I go up and sit down between Sore Mouth and Davie, and talk pleasantly for a while, making a very free use of cold water. They both talk to me of their mothers. Verily woman is majestic to her children, whatever she may be to any other person. These men, with coarse, brown features, unshaven faces, uncut hair, large and brawny arms, rough and horny hands,—how, in this interval of repose from hard labor, their thoughts go back to their childhood's home! and the mothers who bore them were the strong ties still holding them there. This is the fine gold in their hard natures, and almost the only charm, except that of relieving human suffering, which made their sick rooms pleasant. Here we were, all strangers to each other,—they confiding in me, and I striving to shut out some of the painful portions of their condition by making other portions more prominent,—which were indeed sources of great comfort.
There is in reality no romance in a sick room, especially if one has no personal interest in
