arm, misty day, little rain. Found time
to-day to write a couple of letters. Mail came in but none for me.
Health of all is very good, though great dissatisfaction prevails in
regard to rations. Only a little over half rations of hard-tack given
us. They call it post rations, not enough to satisfy the appetites of
those who have been used to live on fighting rations. "Anywhere but
Nashville" is the cry.

Nashville, Saturday, Dec. 31. Surprised to find the ground covered with
snow and very cold. Formed with overcoats on at 9:30 A. M. for muster
for pay. Hope we will get it soon. Boys all very flat. "Busted". I
commence a New Year with a light heart and a lighter locker. On guard.
Luckily on the guns, so I did not have to go to the stables. So the last
thing I did in 1864 was to stand guard, and the first thing in 1865.
Trust it is not going to be so always.

Another year has rolled past and joined the many gone before in the
vistas of the past. Its glorious deeds of valor and achievements, its
scenes of anguish and bloodshed, of wrong and oppression, are subjects
for the future historian. Its ever varying scenes and emotions are
indelibly impressed upon my mind, which death alone can efface. The snow
has clothed the earth in a lovely mantle of white as though to hide the
sad past, and offer a clear page for me in the coming year. Let me then
look forward with hope and determination to keep in the path of virtue
and right, striving to improve the blessings and privileges offered me,
so that when 1865 closes I need not look back with regret at the year
spent.

[Sidenote: 1865 On Guard in the Snow]

Nashville, Sunday, Jan. 1, 1865. New Year's morning dawned bitter cold.
I suffered terribly on guard last night. A heavy impenetrable mist, such
as I have nowhere seen except in Nashville, enveloped the earth till 9
A. M. freezing in icy down upon everything. When I came off post I
looked more like some ghostly spectre in white than a soldier in blue.
Rations very short in camp, but we had a big New Year's dinner of soft
bread and butter, pies and Spring Green cake of Miss Spencer's make.
This evening I received a letter from my faithful brother John. He wrote
in the midst of the festivities of a Christmas visit.

Nashville, Monday, Jan. 2. Weather is growing warmer, the snow melting
and it is growing very muddy. All the talk is about "going to Sherman".
Preparatory orders are issued and we expect to start within two