en there was the danger
of collision with the regiment whose uniform they had assumed. Swift,
constant motion was required. They swept to the head of the column,
and, to be brief, the first Federal pontoon thrown across the
Chattahoochee was laid with the assistance of these spies. The leader
threw himself on the bank and counted the regiments by their insignia
as they passed, until he saw the linen duster and the glittering staff
of the great commander himself as they clattered over the bridge. Then
to Campbellton, hard by, where their horses were rendezvoused, and
whip and spur to Jonesborough.

A council of war was sitting when the scout arrived. He was hurried
into its presence, and told his story with laconic, military
precision. Sherman's whole force was across the Chattahoochee and
marching on Jonesborough, twenty miles away.

"I have sure information to the contrary," said the commanding
general, singularly deceived by a strong conviction, enforced by
scouts who depended on rumor for authority. "It is some feint to cover
the general movement."

"I counted the flags, guidons, regimental insignia--such force
of cavalry, artillery, infantry," giving the numbers. "I saw and
recognized General Sherman," said the scout briefly.

His report was not, even then, credited, but, as a precaution, a
brigade of cavalry, with his battalion in the van, was sent out to
beat up the enemy. A short distance beyond Flint River they struck
the Federal line, which attacked at once, without feeling--a sure
indication of strength. The battalion was hurled back on the brigade,
the brigade rushed across Flint River, and back into the infantry
line, now throwing up tardy entrenchments at Jonesborough. The rest
is historical. It was but one of the rash throws of the dice for
that great stake, the watershed of the Ohio, and helps to show the
principles of military action by which it was lost.

WILL WALLACE HARNEY.

SIMILITUDE.

FROM GOETHE.

On every mountain-crest
Is rest:
In every vale beneath,
No breath
Stirs in the quietude:
The little birds are silent in the wood.
Soon, patient, weary breast,
Thou too wilt rest.

EMMA LAZAROS.

OUR HOME IN THE TYROL.

CHAPTER XI.

One great feature of the Hof has hitherto been passed over in
silence--the other lodgers; for, truth to say, there happened to be a
large family of tourists, who, following in the wake of their p