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I could no more have found my way to those pickets than I could have found my way to the moon.

Solitary and alone I started on my silent round. Not a sound greeted my ears save the echoing clatter of my horse's hoofs over the stony ground, as he galloped ahead. I presume it was near 11 o'clock P. M. by the time the last picket had been removed.

Presently I was surprised to see another solitary horseman come riding towards me, a man of huge stature; at least such he appeared to me to be in the gloom. It was too dark to discover the color of his uniform, but a heavy saber hung at his side. Halting my horse, with a firm grip on one of my pistols, I demanded: Who goes there?" The unknown also came to a halt and answered in sharp, decisive tones: "Jackson, of Tennessee. Who are you?" "Officer of the day," I replied simply, and rode on. The unknown rider, without further par

ley, did the same.

But was he "Jackson, of Tennessee"? This is a question I have frequently asked myself, but never as yet have I been able to answer it satisfactorily. Certain I am that "Jackson, of Tennessee,” had no business there at that hour of the night and his horse's head was bearing him away from the Confederate lines, not towards them. A short time after I found my guide, and together we soon safely descended to the valley.

If "Jackson, of Tennessee," was a Federal, as I am often tempted to believe, then I presume I was the last Confederate that ever set foot on the top of Lookout Mountain.

YOUNGEST PRISONER.

HE youngest prisoner of the Andersonville pen was August Dippler, of Co. F, 155th N. Y. Regt. He was called the Andersonville "Kid." He fought bravely and was captured at Cold Harbor.

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My Dear Sir-I am in receipt of your letter asking me to give you some reminiscences of my army life, specifying one instance which I mentioned once in Faneuil Hall, Boston. I consider it the most pathetic of all I have ever heard or read of in the annals of war. It is absolutely true, and is as follows:

I was in the 87th Regt. N. Y. Vols. We had passed through the campaign of the Peninsula; we came from there to join Pope; we had several days' intermittent fighting around Manassas, Bristow, Catlett's Station, until on the 30th of August, 1862, we were on the field of the second Bull Run. Along in the afternoon of that day, I was struck with a piece of shell, which necessitated the amputation of both of my lower limbs. The operation was performed under fire. My comrades, placing me upon a stretcher, started to carry me from the field. Fortunes of war were against us, and it was impossible for them to get me away. They carried me into a house, and filling my canteen with water bade me good-by, and barely escaped being taken prisoners. I with others lay in that house three or four days. Some were lying in the yards. There were 170 I believe all told. It was on the fourth day, I think, that I with some others was moved out into the rear and placed in a little tent. Six men lay in the tent, and the six men had had seven legs amputated. We were lying on a rough board floor; not a rag of clothing on; a thin rubber blanket between our bruised and bleeding bodies and the hard floor; a single blanket to cover our nakedness. I was specially favored by reason of the fact that I had a piece of board about as long as your arm set up slanting for a pillow. We were prisoners of war. Our captors had next to nothing to eat themselves, and we if possible had

less than they. The Virginia sun poured down its intense heat. Hunger, thirst, flies, maggots, and all the horrible accompaniments were there. A very few men had been left behind to try and take some sort of care of us, but their numbers were sadly deficient. We lay there one day moaning for water, and there was none to bring it to us. Just at the entrance to our tent lay a poor fellow who was terribly wounded in the left side, mortally wounded as it proved to be. He was a stranger to us and we to him, but it has always seemed to me since, that that man, in spirit at least, was a descendant, and an honored one, of the most gallant knight of old. He heard our moans. Water he could not bring us, but, looking over the greensward and out beyond under the trees, he saw there lay some wormeaten apples that had dropped from the branches overhead. Every movement must have been agony unendurable to that man, and yet he clutched at the grass and dragged himself along inch by inch until at last he was within reach of the apples. Picking them from the ground he placed them in the pocket of his blouse, and then, rolling himself around to keep his sound side on the grass, dragged himself back until he lay again at the entrance to our tent. He reached out the apples one by one, and as I lay nearest the entrance I took them from his hand and passed them along until each one of my unfortunate comrades had one. I had just set my teeth in the last one he had handed to me, and it tasted to me at that moment sweeter than the nectar of the gods could have done, when I heard an agonized moan at my right, and turning quickly I saw this good Samaritan with his hands clutching, his eyes rolling. He was in the agonies of death. A moment more and it was all over for him on this side of the Great River. That is all. I never knew even his name. In some home they may mourn him yet as missing. Perhaps his bones have been gathered up and in some of our cemeteries they are interred under the designation, "Unknown." What that man's past life had been, I know not. It may have been wild, and his speech may have been rough. I know that he was unkempt, unshaven, his clothes soiled with dirt and stained with blood; not at all such a picture as you would welcome, at first sight, into your parlor, or at your dining table. But this I have often thought, that in that last act of his he exhibited so much of what I consider the purely Christ-like attribute, that in the day when you and I

shall stand before the just Judge, to be judged for what we have been and not for what we may have pretended to be, I would much rather take my chances in the place of a man who had so large an idea of practical Christianity, than in the place of many more pretentious persons I am acquainted with. I am, sir, very truly yours, JAMES TANNER.

Residence, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

HOW IT SEEMS TO KILL A MAN.

GENERAL MANDERSON, OF NEBRASKA.

THE first man I killed was before Richmond, when McClellan was in command. I was doing picket duty late one night near the bank of a creek, and had been cautioned to be specially watchful, as an attack was expected. I carried my musket halfcocked, and was startled by every rustle the wind made among the trees and dead leaves. It was some time after midnight that I saw a Confederate cavalryman dashing down the opposite side of the creek in my direction. As he was opposite I fired upon the horse and it fell. The cavalryman regained his feet in a moment and had drawn his pistols. I called him to surrender, but his only reply was a discharge from each revolver, one bullet inflicting a flesh wound in my arm. Then I let

him have it full in the breast. He leaped three feet in the air, and fell with his face down. I knew I had finished him. I ran and jumped across the creek, picked him up and laid him on his back. The blood was running out of his nose and mouth, and poured in a torrent from the ragged hole in his breast. In less time than it takes to tell it, he was dead, without having said a word. Then my head began to swim, and I was sick at my stomach. I was overcome by an indescribable horror of the deed I had done. I trembled all over, and felt faint and weak. It was with the greatest difficulty that I managed to get into camp. There they laughed at me, but it was weeks before my nervous system had recovered from the shock.

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CONFEDERATE MONEY.

HE Confederate government did not lack for money. In 1861 it issued $100,000,000, and until the last year of the war continued to send out bills of every convenient denomination, from $1000 to 25 cents. There were green five-cent postage stamps, with profile of Jefferson Davis on them, and these were sometimes used in making "change," but the man who did it was always pitied as a penurious, rascally fellow. Confederate money is handsome. Of course the paper is inferior, but some of the designs are well executed. It has a blue back, on which are intricate curves and circles and curls, and its value is denoted by a single word in letters an inch and a half tall. There is no uniformity in the designs. On some bills there will be imaginary heads and sketches, a woman, a pile of arms, a rush to battle. On others appear likenesses of Confederate heroes and Confederate state houses, -as Jefferson Davis on the fifties, and Alexander H. Stephens on the twenties; the Nashville, Tenn., state house on the tens, and the Richmond, Va., state house on the fives. The face of Confederate money is colored pink around the likenesses. The first bills were simple notes, payable in six months. The second and all subsequent issues were made payable at different times "after a ratification of a treaty of peace between the Confederate States of America and the United States."

Confederate money was not long in going below par. During the war it was not the extortion of merchants which ran up prices to fabulous figures, but it was the depreciation of the currency. In some sections calico sold for ten dollars a yard, good shoes at eighty and one hundred dollars a pair. Fifteen dollars would purchase a spool of thread or a paper of pins. Medicines and all luxuries were not in the market for that sort of paper. A silver dollar was worth at least thirty Confederate dollars. The Confederacy understood that it had to protect its currency as well as its rights, and an act was passed making it treason for moneys to be exchanged at different values.

There has never been a craze among the curiosity collectors for Confederate money. The $1000 bill is scarce, and readily finds buyers at two or three dollars each; the $500 bill can be bought for twenty or thirty cents; the other denominations can be had for a song. Soon after the war men and women began to know for a certainty that their money was valuable only as paper. The ingenious housewives began to use it as money never before was used. They would paper their walls with old journals and periodicals, and put on a border made of Confederate money. Screens were made of bonds with money borders-in fact, everything susceptible of ornamentation received its supply of paste and pink treasury

notes.

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