all expected reinforcements to arrive. Captain Smith with Company E is sent on a foraging expedition to Dickenson's plantation, coming back in the evening well supplied. This evening the Seventh seem in à gleeful mood. Around every camp fire they are now singing "Bonnie blue flag,"--"Rally round the flag, boys," making the mountain gorges re-echo with patriotic songs. No discord here; no discontent manifest-all seem united in the great work of saving the Union.

Wednesday, 22d.-This morning the command is ordered to be kept together, ready to move at a moment's notice; what is contemplated or whither our destination, is a mystery to the soldiers. To-day Colonel Straight arrives from Murfreesboro with a brigade of mounted infantry. Each day indicates that some bold movement is contemplated. Another day is closing and yet the command still remains at a stand.

Thursday, 23d.—This morning the command "forward" is given to the impatient men, and they march briskly, their steps are firm. To-day we witness war's desolating scourge on the plantations. The devouring elements of fire are doing their work. The Alabama Union cavalry and the Kansas Jayhawkers are on the war-path; their day has cometheir day of retribution.

Friday, 14th.-This morning at the first tap of the drum we are up, and soon on the move. About noon we arrive at Tuscumbia; the enemy having all retreated before the Union army's advance. This is

a beautiful town in Northern Alabama, noted for its beautiful springs of water, that leap from the rocks like gushing and swelling fountains. How well do the weary soldiers love to kneel down by these flowing streams after their hard day's march, and drink of their refreshing waters. After arriving at Tuscumbia, the Seventh is ordered to South Florence on the Tennessee River, six miles distant. We arrive about four o'clock, finding Lieutenant Colonel Phillips, with his Ninth Illinois mounted infantry, occupying the place. Soon after our arrival, a flag of truce is sent across the river to Florence, demanding the surrender of the city. On its return we are informed that the rebels have all fled and that no satisfaction could be obtained relative to the surrender, the civil authorities refusing to act. We go into camp to-night on the banks of the Tennessee.

Saturday, 25th.-This morning another flag of truce is sent across the river under the command of Captain Ring of the Seventh, and after remaining a few hours in Florence he returns, reporting the place surrendered and free from armed rebels. The boys are now enjoying themselves bathing in the river.

Sunday, 26th.-This morning the dark overhanging clouds are threatening rain. The Seventh are ordered to quarter themselves in the few scattering houses yet remaining in South Florence. Hark! the drum beats for an assembly. The Seventh are ordered to their camping ground on the hill. Colonel Rowett calling the regiment to attention, informs them of the wanton destruction of property out on the plan

tations, and orders the First Sergeant to call the roll, who reports all present or accounted for, and as usual the Seventh is clear. Though no one would ever suspect any of the Seventh guilty of pillaging houses or stealing, yet a general order is applicable to all— hence the roll call by the first sergeants of the regiment. After this the soldiers return to their houses where they remain comfortable during the night.

Monday, 17th.--This morning we move from South Florence, having been ordered to join the main column at Leighton, ten miles from Tuscumbia on the road leading towards Decatur. The roads are very muddy, but we march briskly and strike the road in advance of the column, when we halt to await its advance. Coming up we take our position in the brigade and move forward through mud and rain. About four o'clock we come up with the rebels and commence a brisk skirmish. The rebels falling back across Town Creek, we go into camp for the night about one mile from the creek. The soldiers, weary and warm, fall down upon the damp ground and are soon sleeping.

Tuesday, 28th.-To day we expect to meet the foe, who threaten to dispute our passage across Town Creek. The morning is beautiful, nature is smiling, and the sun is far up, moving on in its path of blue. The soldiers are ordered to rest themselves as much as possible, for the indications are that much will be demanded of them ere the sun sinks to rest. Looking beneath a tall pine our eyes rest upon a soldier leaning against its base, with his mus

ket on his arm. His head is bowed, and his eyes are closed. We imagine that he is dreaming,-that shadows of light are flitting through his spirit's chamber. He now arises, and we discover that it is our poet soldier, Sergeant S. F. Flint. Our eyes follow him as he is now seated with his pencil and paper. His genius is now at work, and soon after the artillery commences to send forth its harsh echoes over the hills and through the vales of Alabama, he produces the following:

THE SOLDIERS WAYSIDE DREAM.

The word was "rest;" the dusty road was rocky, worn and steep, And many a sun-browned soldier's face sank on his breast to

sleep.

Afar the Alabama hills swept round in billowy lines,

The soft green of their bowery slopes was dotted dark with pines,
And from their tops a gentle breeze, born in the cloudlesssky,
Stole through the valley where a stream was slowly warbling by;
And as it passed it brought a cloud of odor in its plumes,
Of violets and columbines, and milk-white plum tree blooms.
The coolness and the perfume o'er my weary senses crept,
And with my musket on my arm I bowed my head and slept ;
No more the Alabama hills, no more the waving pines,
But still the scent of violets and red wild columbines.

I drew my breath in ecstacy, my feet were shod with joy,
I dreamed I trod the prairie sod in my beautiful Illinois,
The lark sung welcome in the grass the well known path along,
And the pulsations of my heart seemed echoes of his song.
I thought the sunlight never shone so gloriously before,
But sweeter were the smiles of love that met me at the door.
O! hold my hand while yet you may, love of my earlier years,
And wet my face, my mother, with thy proud and happy tears,
And bless me again, my father, bless me again,,I pray,

I hear the bugle, I hear the drum, I have but one hour to stay.

Alas! my dreaming words were true, I woke and knew it all, I heard the clamor of the drum, I heard the captain's call, And over all another voice I oft had heard before

A sound that stirs the dullest heart-the cannon's muffled roar. No longer "rest," but "forward ;" for e'er the day is done

It will tell of the fearful glory of a battle lost and won,

And ere the breath of its blackened lips has time to lift away, My hand must be red and warm with blood, or white and cold

as clay.

O pray for me in thy gentle heart, love of my earlier years,
And mother, only weep for me those proud and happy tears,
And bless again, my father, bless me while yet you may,

My dream words may be doubly true I may have but an hour to stay.

The troops are now in line, skirmishers are deployed forward towards the creek and they soon discover the rebels in force with considerable artillery on the rise beyond the creek. While advancing, the enemy open upon them with their batteries, whereupon our batteries are placed in position and made to play with a telling effect upon the enemy. For about one hour a fierce artillery duel is kept up by the contending forces; the distance being so far between nothing serious is accomplished. Though there is a terrible clamor and a deafening thunder, the flying monsters from the rebel artillery pass harmlessly over our heads or fall a short distance before us. The division is now drawn up in battle line with the intention of effecting a crossing over the creek. While thus drawn up in line of battle, the mail messenger brings us a mail, and there, unmindful of shot and shell flying around us, we read the little love freighted missives; some almost forget that the dogs of war