With me so many things have happened here on Sunday, that you must not be surprised that it is Sunday now. It was on Sunday that Donelson surrendered--on Sunday that I went upon my first foraging--on Sunday that I entered Paris with a flag--on Sunday that we began our first retreat--and it is Sunday now that I am starting on my last scout. The party consists of the men of my old squadron, most of whom were with me in the spring. They have not been to the Obion since, and quickly guess that our destination is Lockridge Mill. It is a beautiful October day, and the tall Tennessee corn stands ripe in the fields, though the woods are as green as they were last June. The Muscadine grape is purple, and the persimmon trees are scattered thickly along the road. Yet the frost has not sugared all of the persimmons, and when we taste one which it has not touched, our mouths are drawn up as though we had tasted so much nut-gall. The weather and the woods are all that we can wish, and my life in Tennessee will be interesting to its close. The road is one that I have not passed over _with you_, for it would not be safe for us to go by Paris and Como. Too many people would guess our destination if we did, so we reverse the circle, and hope to come back that way. This road will lead us through a bad neighborhood, where the guerrillas have many friends. Last week cotton and tobacco were burnt near Boydsville; and we know of large bodies of them up the river, who have succeeded King's cavalry, and may swoop down on us at any time. We need, therefore, to use much care and caution, and be always on the watch. For many miles our ride has not been marked by anything unusual; but it is now evening, and we are approaching a little hamlet. We reach it--we have seen no one, and no one has seen us; but every door is closed, and every house is empty. I do not like this. The advance guard has noticed it too, and halted for orders. "Push on, corporal," I say; "be very watchful; send two of your men well ahead, and keep on at a trot." No one is seen, and no sound is heard for some time, and then we meet a man on horseback, who has drawn out to the side of the road for us to pass. A sergeant leaves the column and tells the man that he must come with us; and, much against his will, he does so. But, not long afterwards, we halt to feed our horses. "Send Corporal Morton and four men back a mile as a picket. Let them take corn with them and feed two of the horses, while the others go further down the road. Then change and feed the others, and, when all are done, come in without further orders." The advance guard pursue the same plan, and then I turn to the man on horseback. "I have been up to the doctor's for medicine for my wife," he says, "and she's expecten of me back. I wish you would let me go, sir." "I cannot now," I answer; "but I will try to let you off soon."