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‘ [13] just to make it taste right.’ The cabbage was brought. Ten minutes came and went.

‘Is it done, now?’ asked the wondering daughter of Eve.

‘Mos' done; but please marm give me a half a dozen potatoes, just to gin it a final flavor.’ ‘All right,’ answered the widow, who by this time had become deeply absorbed in the operation. The potatoes followed the cabbage and meat. Another ten minutes was numbered in the cycle of eternity. ‘Isn't it done yet, 'pears to me that it's a long time a cooking,’ remarked the antique mother, who was getting impatient.

‘Mos' done; jest get me a handful of flour, some pepper and salt, one or two termartusses, and it will be all right.’

These things were brought, and after bubbling in the pot awhile, the utensil was lifted off the fire, the soldier pulled his knife, with spoon attachment, and commenced to eat. The economical widow went in, got a plate, came out, and filled it, the first spoonful she tasted she exclaimed,

‘Why, man, this is nothing but common vegetable soup.’

‘So it is, marm,’ responded the soldier, who was making the best time he could; ‘but we uns calls it stone soup.’

The old lady carried her pot in the house, learning that the ingenuity of a soldier can compass anything.

But I will return to my mutton—or, rather, my beef. The men were not to be balked of their meal because there wasn't a cooking range or French cooks to prepare their dinner; they hunted about and found flat stones, that were lying around in the greatest profusion, and broiled their beef on them, and then went at it tooth and nail. It would be an interesting study to know how much meat some of those men ate—enough, indeed, to hold his own in that line against a Pawnee or Piute Indian.

After this dejeuner, a squad of us went into Sharpsburg. The enemy's artillery had begun to play upon the village, and the many hills echoed and re-echoed the thunder, the war music so common to our ears the last three months.

We stayed a short time, and on our return came down the road towards the Seventeenth. We were passing a group of soldiers lying behind a fence watching the flash of the enemy's artillery, which was on a high hill about a mile off. All at once a large twelve-pounder shell from one of these very guns struck the ground in the front, and then, as if cast by a child's hands, rolled gently around the group, and there it rested, with the fuse spluttering and blazing. The

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