enter. Thomie said, "My room is next to yours, sister. Pleasant dreams, and refreshing slumbers," and he kissed me good night. "Good night, dear brother." "Good night, dear friend," said I, as he and Colonel Young left the tent. By the dim light I surveyed the "room" and its furnishings, and wept to think that dear Confederate soldiers had deprived themselves of comforts that I might be comfortable. A handsome buffalo robe lay on the ground; and a coat nicely folded for a pillow, and a gray blanket for a cover, invited me to repose. A small pan of water for morning ablution, and a towel, and a mirror about the size of a silver dollar, and a comb and brush, furnished every needed convenience. I removed the skirt of my dress that it might not be wrinkled in the morning, and my mantle for the same cause, and lay down and slept, oh, how sweetly, under the protecting care of those noble men, until awakened by the sweet familiar voice of my brother, saying, "Get up, sister, or you will not be ready for the roll-call," was his never-tobe-forgotten morning salutation. "As a short horse is soon curried," it required only a few moments to make myself presentable, and just as I was about announcing myself in that condition, Thomie again appeared at the door with a plate containing my breakfast in one hand, and a tin cup containing a decoction, which he called coffee, in the other. "Here is your breakfast, sister;" and he added, "the ambulance is waiting to carry you to Lovejoy's station. Lieutenant Jewell and myself have been detailed to accompany you there."

The army wagons were already falling in line one

after another and moving onward in a northwesterly direction; and what remained of the infantry and cavalry of that once magnificent army, which so often had achieved victory under General Joseph E. Johnston, had made their last grand bivouac on Georgia soil, and were moving onward in the line of march to Tennessee, under the command of Hood. They were leaving many a gallant comrade who had bitten the dust and drenched the soil of Georgia with his life-blood, and although they must have feared that the flag they loved so well was now leading them to defeat, yet not one of those true hearts would have deserted it for the wealth of India. As they marched in a different direction from that I was going to take, and the demand for rapid movement was imperative, I could not follow them long with my eye, but the memory of the little I saw will ever be fresh, and, like an inspiration to me, their bayonets glittered in a perfect halo of glory, for the mists and clouds of the preceding day had passed away during the night, and a blue sky and bright sun gladdened the earth.

The two young lieutenants took seats opposite to me in the ambulance. Thus arranged, I caught every movement and look of that dear brother from whom I was so soon to part. He never looked more handsome, or appeared to greater advantage. I was his guest, and he entertained me with a "feast of reason and a flow of soul." At my request he sang some of the songs of "auld lang syne," but he preferred to talk of our mother and our sister. He recalled incidents of his childhood,

and laughed heartily over some of them. He spoke of his Mary in Texas and his love for her, and he took from his vest pocket the impression of the foot and hand of his only child, a dear little boy whom he had never seen, and kissed them, then folded them carefully and put them back in his pocket and said:

"I must hurry back to Texas."

But back of all this glee and apparent hopefulness I saw, in characters unmistakable, that he was almost bereft of hope, and sustained only by Christian resignation.

We knew by the immense crowd of people standing and sitting around on improvised seats, that we were approaching the station. The two soldiers got out of the ambulance with the elasticity of youth and health, and Thomie assisted me out. I stood for a moment, as if uncertain where to go, and Lieutenant Jewell grasped my hand and said:

the

"Good-bye, dear Miss Mary!" and stepped back into wagon and resumed his seat.

Seeing a large, square old house, which appeared to be full of people, Thomie and I advanced toward it a few steps. Suddenly, as if admonished that a soldier's duties should have precedence over everything else, he took me in his arms and kissed me fervently once, twice, thrice. I understood for whom they were intendedthat trio of kisses. Not a word did he speak, and when he turned his back on me I saw him brush off the silent tears, and more than one step was uneven before his

nerves became steady and he ready to report for duty. I felt intuitively that I should never look upon his face again, and I watched him with riveted eyes until I could no longer see him, and then I gazed upon the vehicle containing him until it, too, disappeared forever from my sight. Then, and not till then, I gave way to pentup sorrow, and cried as one without hope-unreservedly.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE RETURN HOME.

From Jonesboro via Augusta-Scenes and Incidents by the way. The lonely journey from Stone Mountain to Decatur.

Dazed by a full realization that my brother and every male relative and friend were in the octopus arms of war, cruel and relentless, I stood riveted to the spot where my brother had parted from me, until a gentle hand touched my shoulder, and a pleasant voice gave me a friendly greeting. Turning I saw Mrs. Anderson, sister of the brave and gallant Robert Alston, whose tragic fate is known to every reader in this country.

"I am glad to see you. I have just seen your brother Robert," I said.

"Where? Where? Do tell me that I may go to him!" cried his devoted sister, laughing and weeping alternately.

Having ascertained that the long train of exiles would not leave the station for several hours, I offered to conduct the tender-hearted woman to the camp-fire of her brother. The route took me over the same ground which only a few moments ago I had traveled with my own dear brother; and along which I had seen

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