many a more elegant and plentiful repast of which I have
partaken since the war. All the rations of beef and pork were combined
to make a fricassee _a la camp_, the very small rations of flour being
mixed with the cornmeal to make a large, round loaf of "stuff." These
delectable dishes were both cooked in bake-ovens outside the cabin.
From cross-sticks, arranged gypsy-fashion, swung an iron pot, in which
was prepared the cornmeal coffee, which, with "long sweetening"
(molasses) and without milk, composed the meal. In this well-arranged
mess the work was so divided that each man had his day to cut all the
wood, bring all the water, cook, wash dishes, and keep the cabin in
order. So, on this occasion there was no confusion. All was
accomplished with precision. In due time a piece of board was placed
before me with my rations arranged upon it in a bright tin plate, my
coffee being served in a gorgeous mug, which, I strongly suspect, had
been borrowed for the occasion, having once been a shaving-mug. Dinner
over, Lieutenant Cluverius called to escort me through the camp, and
at the officers' quarters I met many old acquaintances. Upon inquiry,
I found the boys in camp contented and entirely unwilling to receive
any benefit from the fund placed in my hands. They had taken the
chances of a soldier's life, and were quite willing to abide by them.

The terrible bumping which I had experienced while riding to camp, in
the ambulance drawn by the "gaily mule," disinclined me for another
ride. So, just at sunset, my husband and I, with our boy and one or
two friends, walked through the piny woods to the hotel, whence I
returned next day to Newnan. This was during the winter. Later, I made
a second trip, this time to Macon, having been called upon to supply
money to the family of an old soldier (deceased) who wanted to reach
home. Wishing to investigate in person, I went to Macon. On the
morning of my return, while passing through one of the hospitals, I
met at the bedside of a Louisiana soldier a member of Fenner's
Battery, John Augustin, of New Orleans. At the depot we met again, and
the gentleman very kindly took charge of me. I was going to Newnan, he
returning to camp. Delightful conversation beguiled the way. Among
other subjects, poets and poetry were discussed. I told him of Dr.
Archer, and a beautiful "Ode to Hygeia" composed by him, parts of
which I remembered and repeated. Gradually I discovered that Mr.
Augustin had an