vening." Trotting along over the road which Mrs. Calisspe said was
straight, but which, in fact, was exceedingly crooked, we came finally
to the camp of the Thirteenth Michigan, a regiment which General Thomas
supposes to be engaged in cutting saw-logs, when, in truth, its
principal business is strolling about the country stealing chickens. It
is, however, known as the saw-log regiment.

On our return from Shallow Ford, as we approached Mrs. Calisspe's, we
saw her handsome daughter on the porch inspecting a side-saddle, and
concluded from this that the gallant Lieutenant's application had been
successful, and that she proposed to accompany him to the ball on
horseback. As we galloped by the house, a little flaxen-haired, chubby
boy, who had climbed the fence, extended his head over the top rail and
jabbered at us at the top of his voice; but the handsome young lady did
not favor us with even a glance.

31. It is late. Hours ago the bugles notified the boys that it was time
to retire to their dens. I have been reading Thackeray's "Lovell, the
Widower," and as I sat alone in the silence of the middle night, the
scenes depicted grew distinct and life-like; the characters encompassed
me about real living men and women; the drawing-rooms, dining-halls,
parlors, opened out before me; the streets, walks, drives, were all
visible, and I became a spectator instead of a reader. Suddenly a low,
unearthly wail broke the stillness, and my hair stiffened somewhat at
the roots, as the fancy struck me that I heard the voice of the defunct
Mrs. Lovell. A moment's reflection, however, dispelled this
disagreeable thought. Looking toward the corner of the cabin whence the
ghostly sound emanated, I discovered a strange cat. My long-legged boots
followed each other in quick succession toward the unhappy kitten, and I
yelled "scat" in a very vindictive way.

JANUARY 1, 1864.

Standing on a peak of Mission Ridge to-day, we had spread out before us
one of the grandest prospects which ever delighted the eye of man.
Northward Waldron's Ridge and Lookout mountain rose massive and
precipitous, and seemed the boundary wall of the world. Below them was
the Tennessee, like a ribbon of silver; Chattanooga, with its thousands
of white tents and miles of fortifications. Southward was the
Chickamauga, and beyond a succession of ridges, rising higher and
higher, until the eye rested upon the blue tops of the great mountains
of North Carolina. T