as well as a good doctor of divinity, and above
either of these, he was a good man per se. Every old soldier of the
First Tennessee Regiment will remember Dr. C. T. Quintard with the
kindest and most sincere emotions of love and respect. He would go off
into the country and get up for our regiment clothing and provisions,
and wrote a little prayer and song book, which he had published, and gave
it to the soldiers. I learned that little prayer and song book off by
heart, and have a copy of it in my possession yet, which I would not
part with for any consideration. Dr. Quintard's nature was one of love.
He loved the soldiers, and the soldiers loved him, and deep down in
his heart of hearts was a deep and lasting love for Jesus Christ, the
Redeemer of the world, implanted there by God the Father Himself.

Y'S YOU GOT MY HOG?

One day, a party of "us privates" concluded we would go across the
Conasauga river on a raid. We crossed over in a canoe. After traveling
for some time, we saw a neat looking farm house, and sent one of the
party forward to reconnoiter. He returned in a few minutes and announced
that he had found a fine fat sow in a pen near the house. Now, the plan
we formed was for two of us to go into the house and keep the inmates
interested and the other was to toll and drive off the hog. I was one
of the party which went into the house. There was no one there but an
old lady and her sick and widowed daughter. They invited us in very
pleasantly and kindly, and soon prepared us a very nice and good dinner.
The old lady told us of all her troubles and trials. Her husband had
died before the war, and she had three sons in the army, two of whom had
been killed, and the youngest, who had been conscripted, was taken with
the camp fever and died in the hospital at Atlanta, and she had nothing
to subsist upon, after eating up what they then had. I was much
interested, and remained a little while after my comrade had left.
I soon went out, having made up my mind to have nothing to do with the
hog affair. I did not know how to act. I was in a bad fix. I had heard
the gun fire and knew its portent. I knew the hog was dead, and went on
up the road, and soon overtook my two comrades with the hog, which had
been skinned and cut up, and was being carried on a pole between them.
I did not know what to do. On looking back I saw the old lady coming and
screaming at the top of her voice, "You got my hog! You go