Entering the dwelling, Brother Gaddis sought the landlady, Mrs. Proctor, or the late widow Bell, but now the wife of a Proctor, who, by-the-by, is at present to be found in the ranks of the rebel army, the madam's entire sympathies leading in the same direction. Addressing the landlady in his usual winning manner, Brother Gaddis requested the privilege of remaining as a guest of the house, and enjoying the luxuries of her well-stored larder and the comforts of her well-furnished rooms. What was the surprise of the chaplain to find in the landlady a real she-devil in politics, and utterly inexorable to all appeals to her charity and hospitality. In her remarks, she observed that "He was on the wrong side of the fence; that she had entertained, the day before the arrival of the Union troops, a company of three hundred gentlemen, (referring to that number of rebel cavalry,) and that they had treated her like a lady, and paid her for what they had received"--(_in Confederate scrip_). In reply, Brother Gaddis, not wishing to be deprived of her coveted entertainment, inquired "What was the difference which side of the fence he was on, so that he conducted himself with propriety, and paid her for her trouble?" asking if his money was not as good as that of those of whom she spoke. She answered, "No!" and positively refused to entertain any of the "hated Yankees" in her house. "TURCHIN'S GOT YOUR MULE." A planter came to camp one day, His niggers for to find; His mules had also gone astray, And stock of every kind. The planter tried to get them back, And thus was made a fool, For every one he met in camp Cried, "Mister, here's your mule." CHORUS.--Go back, go back, go back, old scamp, And don't be made a fool; Your niggers they are all in camp, And Turchin's got your mule. His corn and horses all were gone Within a day or two. Again he went to Colonel Long, To see what he could do. "I can not change what I have done, And won't be made a fool," Was all the answer he could get, The owner of the mule. CHORUS.--Go back, go back, go back, old scamp, And don't be made a fool; Your niggers they are all in camp, And Turchin's got your mule. And thus from place to place we go, The song is e'er the same; 'Tis not as once it used to be, For Morgan's lost his name. He went up North, and there he stays, With stricken face, the fool; In Cincinnati now he cries, "My kingdom for a mule." CHORUS.--Go back, go back, etc. CHAPTER XXXI.