Let me tell your readers of what I was an eye-witness, a few evenings ago. You that have comfortable homes and warm firesides, with no war at your doors, can have but a faint idea of the horrors that are broadcast over this once happy country. A poor woman came to the commanding General of this brigade and begged for protection. She lived eight miles from this camp, and the rebels had threatened to burn her barn and house. Now, what do you think was this woman's offense? Her husband had joined the Union army at Nashville last August, and when, a few days afterward, he returned to arrange his family affairs, the "guerillas" found out his return, and five of the incarnate fiends walked into his house, and while he was seated at the table, partaking of his breakfast, these men shot him--there, in the presence of his wife and six children, these fiends, that our worthy President deliberately "commutes," murdered their only protector; and now, not satisfied with their former atrocity, they return to drive the poor widow and her children from the desolate little homestead! O! if there is one hell deeper than another, please, God, send these wretches, who would persecute a poor woman thus, to it! The General, upon hearing the story of her troubles, sent out two companies of the 2d Minnesota Regiment to guard and bring into camp her children, and what few chattels were left. Company A, under Captain Barnes, and Company G, under Captain Keifer, were assigned to perform this act of deserved charity. It was ten o'clock at night, cold and windy, the rain penetrating to the very bones, and dark as Egypt, when the two companies returned with Mrs. Crane and her six children. One rickety wagon, a mangy old horse, a cow, some bedding, and a few cooking utensils, were the trophies of the trip. These things told a tale of poverty, but they were all the poor widow of the murdered soldier possessed. The children were all barefooted, and most scantily attired; the little ones shivered with the cold, and the older ones wrapped their tattered garments closer as the wind played rudely with them. A little four-year-old boy eyed the soldiers with a side glance, and clung to his mother, as she held her infant to her breast. If I were to decide what to do in such a case, I would quickly turn out Mr. 'Squire McMurray, and let Mrs. Crane and her little ones possess the well-stocked farm. To-day the General is endeavoring to get transportation to Indiana for this family, at the expense of the Government. An old negro resident near this camp, in conversation, a few days since, said to me: "Look-a-heah! all you white folks, when any debbeltry is done, allers lay it to Massa John Morgan." "Well," said I, "don't he do a large share of it?"