L. P. Brockett, The camp, the battlefield, and the hospital: or, lights and shadows of the great rebellion

“ No,” replied the other; “thar's nothina on it. Yer eyes is no better'n moles.”

“Wall, I'll guv it a shot, anyhow,” rejoined the first, and fired his carbine. The bullet glanced from the log, and struck the water a few feet from the scout. The one shot attracted others, and for a few minutes the balls fell thickly around him, but he escaped unhurt! The God to whom he had prayed shielded him, and brought him safely out of the hands of his enemies. In six days, after unparalleled hardships, he reached the Union lines.

A few days before I left Murfreesboro, Bible started on another trip into the enemies' lines to establish a chain of spy stations up to Bragg's headquarters. He succeeded in the perilous enterprise, and, when I last heard of him, was pursuing his usual avocation, doing really more service to the country than many a star-shouldered gentleman who is talked of now in the newspapers, and may be read of centuries hence in history.

If I have outlined his character distinctly, the reader has perceived that he is brave, simple-hearted, outspoken, hospitable, enterprising, industrious, loyal to liberty, earnest in his convictions-though ignorantly confounding names with things — a good husband and father, with a quiet humor which flavors character as Worcester sauce flavors a good dinner, a practical wisdom which “trusts in the Lord, but keeps its powder dry,” some talent for bragging, and that intensity of nature and disposition to magnify every thing (illustrated in his story and conversation) which leads the Southerner to do nothing by halves, to throw his whole soul into whatever he undertakes, to be, like Jeremiah's figs, “if good, very good: if bad, not fit to feed the pigs.” Though morally