rough-hewn logs, and raised a few feet from the ground; a sort of hall, open at both ends, separated my room from one on the opposite side occupied by Dr. ——­ and his wife.  All around, as far as one could see, amid the white snow and with lofty pine-trees towering above them, extended the hospital-tents, and in these lay the sick, the wounded, the dying.  Hospital-supplies were scarce, our rations of the plainest articles, which, during the first years of the war, were considered absolute necessaries, had become priceless luxuries.  Eggs, butter, chickens came in such small quantities that they must be reserved for the very sick.  The cheerfulness, self-denial, and fellow-feeling shown by those who were even partly convalescent, seemed to me to be scarcely less admirable than the bravery which had distinguished them on the battle-field.  But this is a digression:  let me hasten to relate how I was helped to a decision as to Christmas “goodies.”  One morning, going early to visit some wounded soldiers who had come in during the night, I found in one tent a newcomer, lying in one of the bunks, his head and face bandaged and bloody.  By his side sat his comrade,—­wounded also, but less severely,—­trying to soften for the other some corn-bread, which he was soaking and beating with a stick in a tin cup of cold water.  He explained that the soldier with the bandaged head had been shot in the mouth, and could take only soft food.  I said, “Don’t give him that.  I will bring him some mush and milk, or some chicken soup.”  He set down the cup, looked at me with queer, half-shut eyes, then remarked, “Yer ga-assin’ now, ain’t ye?”

Having finally convinced him that I was not, I retired for a moment to send the nurse for some food.  When it came, and while I was slowly putting spoonfuls of broth into the poor, shattered mouth of his friend, he stood looking on complacently, though with his lip quivering.  I said to him, “Now, what would you like?” After a moment’s hesitation he replied, “Well, lady, I’ve been sort of hankerin’ after a sweet-potato pone, but I s’pose ye couldn’t noways get that?” “There,” thought I, “that’s just what I will get and give them all for Christmas dinner.”

Hastening to interview the surgeon in charge, I easily obtained permission to go on the next day among the farmers to collect materials for my feast.  An ambulance was placed at my disposal.

My foraging expedition was tolerably successful, and I returned next evening with a quantity of sweet potatoes, several dozen eggs, and some country butter.  Driving directly to the door of my cabin, I had my treasures securely placed within; for, although holding my soldier-friends in high estimation, I agreed with the driver of the ambulance,—­“Them ’taturs has to be taken in out of the cold.”  My neighbor’s wife, Mrs. Dr. ——­, entered heartily into my plans for the morrow, promising her assistance.  My night-round of visits to the sick having been completed, I was soon seated by my