a warm friend and a most pleasant host.  Mrs. Lee used to search for me through the wards, and, having found me, would flourish a “prescription,” made out in due form, for “an hour of leisure, to be repeated twice every week before retiring.”  These hours spent at the pleasant quarters of Dr. and Mrs. Lee were, indeed, “a feast of reason and a flow of soul,” often diversified by funny experiments in disguising the remains of the day’s rations by cooking recipes familiar in ante-bellum days, but which generally failed because substitutes would never produce the same results as the real ingredients.

Dr. Lee was some months afterwards transferred to Cherokee Springs as surgeon in charge of one of the convalescent hospitals, of which Mrs. Lee volunteered to act as matron.  We parted with real regret, but truly her patients gained by our loss.  For she was most competent, faithful, and well-beloved by those to whom she ministered.

The autumn passed quickly, some pretty severe days giving us a foretaste of the rigor of a winter in North Georgia.  By November 1 it was not only bitterly cold, but snow covered the ground to the depth of six inches, and the roads were furrowed and frozen.  Terrible accounts reached us from Bragg’s army, who were without shoes, blankets, or clothes, and suffering fearfully.  Officers and men were alike destitute.  General Patton Anderson determined to make an effort to supply his division, and for this purpose selected Lieutenant J.A.  Chalaron, Fifth Company, Washington Artillery, as one in every way qualified to carry out such an undertaking, who was therefore ordered to Savannah and other places to secure the needed supplies.

He cheerfully accepted the charge, although it involved deprivation of the rest so greatly needed, and the continuance of hardship already extended almost beyond human endurance.  But the young officer was every inch a soldier, and one of a company which had already won a name for itself not less for invincible courage than for soldierly bearing and devotion to duty.  That so young a soldier was selected to conduct such an undertaking proved how surely he had deserved and won the confidence of his superior officers.  In those days railroad travelling was far from pleasant.  The train upon which Lieutenant Chalaron embarked at Knoxville was a motley affair,—­perhaps a single passenger-car, rough and dilapidated (crowded with those who, though ill, made shift to sit up or recline upon the seats), box-cars and cattle-cars filled with suffering men helplessly sick.  In order that these might not be crowded, Lieutenant Chalaron, with one or two others, rode on the top of a box-car for twelve hours, from Knoxville to Chattanooga, exposed to the inclement weather which he was ill prepared to meet, having shared the inexpressible hardships of the Kentucky campaign, including destitution of suitable clothing.  I take pleasure in recording this noble act, because Lieutenant Chalaron was from