Nothing has ever haunted my waking and sleeping dreams, not even the ghastly scenes of the battle-field, as the memory of the concentrated horrors of that journey. The groans and cries of the wounded and dying still ring through my soul; and from feelings of compassion I draw the curtain over the darkest scenes, that even at this distance make me shudder, and give to my readers only the more pleasant incidents of the journey, which was in truth a funeral march. One man lying on the floor of the ladies’ cabin on his blanket, with his fever-racked head on his knapsack, gave me such an appealing look that I went to him. “What can I do for you?” I inquired. “You can write to my wife if you get through alive, and tell her I died on the _City of Memphis_.” “While there is life there is hope. You are not dead yet, and may not die.” “Oh, yes, I will! there is no chance for me. Now take down her name,” and he gave me the name and address of his wife. “Now I must do something to help you,” I said. “Could you drink a cup of tea?” “No, nothing--it’s too late.” “Could you drink a glass of lemonade?” How his face brightened! “Where could you get it?” he asked eagerly. “Make it. I have lemons and sugar, and there is a whole river full of water at hand.” The poor man cried with joy; and others wept, too, as they drank the refreshing beverage, for, providentially, I had a heavy lot of lemons with me. The patient began to mend at once, and by the time we reached Cairo was able to sit up. Years afterwards I was on a Mississippi River steamer bound for St. Louis, when I noticed a lady and gentleman regarding me with some interest, and heard the gentleman say,-- “I am sure it is she.” The lady came directly to me, with the question,-- “Did you come up the Mississippi River on the _City of Memphis_ with the wounded after Sherman’s defeat?” “Yes, I did.” “It’s she! It’s she!” the lady exclaimed joyfully, much to the amusement of some of the passengers who had not heard the question. The gentleman joined us, and made himself known as the man who started the lemonade treat on that doleful night. “That saved my life,” he said reverently. “I want you to know,” said his wife, with tears on her face, “that we have never for a day forgotten you, though we did not know your name. We prayed for you as the unknown lady; and the children were taught to end their evening prayer with, ‘and God bless the unknown lady that saved papa’s life.’” It was a very happy and pleasant meeting, although purely accidental. NOT TIME TO SEND FOR THE COLONEL. Clinton B. Fisk was chosen colonel of a regiment made up largely of ministers and religious men. The morality of the regiment was a matter of favorable comment, not only in the camp where they were drilled before leaving the State, but also as they advanced down the Mississippi River. Some one suggested that Colonel Fisk should do the swearing of the regiment, as he was “as religious as a preacher.”