* * * * * I am gliding down the beautiful river, its crystal waters sparkle in the sun; and Fort Henry is lessening on my sight: the tall hills opposite sink down, the flag-staff and the waving flag alone are left. Now, farewell, Tennessee! _APPENDIX._ The following interesting letters, which are taken from leading New York newspapers, are now added to the 3d edition of this work. They form so unusual a testimonial from military officers, and also from the Union men of the South, of the truthfulness and value of the book, both as a sketch of war scenes, drawn from a military point of view, and as a reliable account of the Union sentiment which secretly prevailed at the South, that the Executive Committee have deemed them a desirable appendix to the foregoing pages. AN INTERESTING INCIDENT. _Editor of the_ --------. The re-publication of JUDGE NOTT'S "Sketches of the War," recalls an incident, connected with one of those unfaltering Unionists of Tennessee, which I trust will prove interesting to your loyal readers. In the month of Oct., 1863, when on a scouting expedition, after Faulkner, which left Union City, under the command of the celebrated Captain Frank Moore, of the 2d Illinois Cavalry, we passed through Como. It was after noon, and I, with my two companies of the 4th Mo. Cavalry, was ordered to "turn in" and feed, at a house, about a quarter of a mile out of town, where there seemed to be plenty of forage and "shoats." After seeing my command properly disposed, I stationed a guard at the house, and entered the gate. The lady of the house met me on the porch and invited me in. I observed to her, after entering, that I was obliged to stop to feed my command, as they were very tired and hungry, and asked if she could prepare a meal for some half dozen officers. She assented, and immediately went to the kitchen to give the necessary directions. When she returned, I inquired: "Is your husband at home?" "No, sir. He is absent, looking for his stock." I was then convinced of what I expected at first, from her frightened looks and distant manner, that her husband was in the rebel army. "What," I ventured to ask, "is your husband's name?" "Hurt, sir." "Hurt, Hurt," I repeated after her. "That name sounds familiar. I have seen or heard it somewhere. Ah! now I remember. It was in a little work written by Captain Nott, called 'Sketches of the War'." "Indeed!" she exclaimed. "Did you know him?"