read but a few lines when he exclaimed, with a strong expletive,
"Boys, I would give a month's pay if we had captured that fellow!"

"Who was he? Who was he?" cried several soldiers in unison.

"He was--let me see--" and the Lieutenant tore open several more of the
letters, and rapidly scanned them--"yes, these letters make it plain. He
was a Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington, and he was from the Rebel army at
Corinth. I take it he was on his way back to Kentucky to recruit for the
command of a Captain John H. Morgan. Morgan--Morgan, I have heard of that
fellow before. He played the deuce with us in Kentucky last winter: burned
the railroad bridge over Bacon Creek, captured trains, tore up the
railroad, and played smash generally. These letters all seem to be private
ones written by the soldiers in Morgan's command to their relatives and
friends back in Kentucky. But he may have carried important dispatches on
his person. We let a rare prize slip through our fingers."

"Can't be helped now," dryly remarked Sergeant Latham. "If you had
captured him it might have put one bar, if not two, on your
shoulder-strap."

The Lieutenant scowled, but did not reply. All the letters were read and
passed around. Three or four of them occasioned much merriment, for they
were written by love-lorn swains whom the cruel hand of war had torn from
their sweethearts.

"Golly! it's a wonder them letters hadn't melted from the sweetness they
contained," remarked Sergeant Latham.

"Or took fire from their warmth," put in a boyish looking soldier.

"Not half as warm as the letter I caught you writing to Polly Jones the
other day," laughed a comrade. "Boys, I looked over his shoulder and read
some of it. I tell you it was hot stuff. 'My dearest Polly!' it commenced,
'I----' "

But he never finished the sentence, for the young soldier sprang and
struck him a blow which rolled him in the dust.

"A fight! a fight!" shouted the men, and crowded around to see the fun.

"Stop that!" roared the Lieutenant, "or I will have you both bucked and
gagged when we get to camp. Sergeant Latham, see that both of those men
are put on extra duty to-night."

When things had quieted down, others of the letters were read; but some of
them occasioned no merriment. Instead, one could see a rough blouse sleeve
drawn across the eyes, and a gulping down as if something choked the
wearer. These were letters written to the wives and mothers who were
watching and wait