But there was no rest for the weary. I foolishly rejoiced when I escaped the work of helping to make up the shooting records, also (perhaps not so foolishly) when the typhoid sufferers were taken to be inoculated for the third time. But while the captain supervised the company clerks, the lieutenant, in anticipation of a regimental parade, took us out on the field. See how carefully it was done. As we were but the fraction of a company he lined us up and made up squads afresh, a corporal to each, then instructed us in our parade work, and drilled us for two hours. Having my two blisters, I did not enjoy it, and the men were groaning all around me. He was as hard to please as the captain; once, looking back along the line as we marched company front, he said, "The ancestors of this bunch certainly must have been a lot of snakes!" But I'll venture to say that none of us, after this, will forget how to oblique in making the turn. After ten minutes' rest, we were taken to calisthenics, after which I anticipated a good loaf. But no, we were assembled, the whole regiment, for a conference concerning our return home by government aid, the major and a railroad agent instructing us in the terms. I was glad to find that I can simply go home on my return ticket, and let the treasury department pay me when it's good and ready; and after standing in line for half an hour I was able to state my intention to do this. There was then just time to change for the parade, which was partly interesting, partly tedious. Thanks to the lieutenant's drill, we made no mistakes, though at one time we had to make our way at company front among the boxes and barrels strewed in the neighborhood of the quartermaster's shack. Lieutenant Pendleton briefly said, when we were back in the street, "You did well." And the captain, who left the scoring long enough to watch the parade, joked us on being mountain goats. The blisters are no worse for the afternoon's work. It is raining steadily. Love from DICK. EXTRACT FROM THE LETTER OF MISS MAMIE MARSHALL TO HER FRIEND, MISS ROSETTA JONES ... And I waved a handkerchiff, so some of the men cried Eyes Rite They were awfully hansome especially one with a curling black mustarsh but that horrid captain Kirby stopped them from looking at us and the whole colum went by without paying us any more attention it was mean.... FROM PRIVATE GODWIN Plattsburg, Saturday the 23d. DEAR MOTHER:--