to the advance of the foe his own faithful breast, never faltering until slain by the horrid fangs which greedily fastened themselves deep in his heart.  As I have already mentioned, I made during the winter and spring several visits to the front.  At one time my husband, a member of Fenner’s Louisiana Battery, was with his command in winter quarters at Kingston, whither I went to pay a visit and to inquire after the needs of the “boys.”  My little son (who had by this time joined me at Newnan) accompanied me.  Kingston was at this time a bleak, dismal-looking place.  I stopped at a large, barn-like hotel, from the gallery of which, while sitting with visitors from camp, I witnessed an arrival of Georgia militia, whose disembarkation from a train in front of the hotel was met by a noisy demonstration.  They were a strange-looking set of men, but had “store clothes,” warm wraps, sometimes tall hats, in all cases good ones.  This, with the air of superiority they affected, was enough to provoke the fun-loving propensities of the ragged, rough-looking veterans who had collected to watch for the arrival of the train.  As the shaking, rickety cars passed out of sight, these raw troops walked up to the hotel and there strode up and down, assuming supreme indifference to the storm of raillery which assailed them.  Of course my sympathies were with the veterans, and I laughed heartily at their pranks.  One of the first to set the ball in motion was a tall, athletic-looking soldier clad in jeans pants, with a faded red stripe adorning one leg only, ragged shoes tied up with twine strings, and a flannel shirt which undoubtedly had been washed by the Confederate military process (i.e., tied by a string to a bush on the bank of a stream, allowed to lie in the water awhile, then stirred about with a stick or boat upon a rock, and hung up to drip and dry upon the nearest bush or tied to the swaying limb of a tree).  “A shocking bad hat” of the slouch order completed his costume.  Approaching a tall specimen of “melish,” who wore a new homespun suit of “butternut jeans,” a gorgeous cravat, etc., the soldier opened his arms and cried out in intense accents, “Let me kiss him for his mother!” Another was desired to “come out of that hat.”  A big veteran, laying his hand on the shoulder of a small, scared-looking, little victim, and wiping his own eyes upon his old hat, whined out, “I say, buddy, you didn’t bring along no sugar-teats, did you?  I’m got a powerful hankerin’ atter some.”  An innocent-looking soldier would stop suddenly before one of the new-comers neatly dressed, peer closely at his shirt-front, renewing the scrutiny again and again with increasing earnestness, then, striking an attitude, would cry out, “Biled, by Jove!” One, with a stiff, thick, new overcoat, was met with the anxious inquiry, “Have you got plenty of stuffing in that coat, about here” (with a hand spread over stomach and heart), “because the Yankee bullets is mighty penetrating.”  Each new joke was hailed with shouts of laughter and ear-piercing rebel yells, but at last the “melish” was marched off and the frolic ended.