I was quite interested at discovering this reverse side of the temperament, the devotional side preponderates so enormously, and the greatest scamps kneel and groan in their prayer-meetings with such entire zest.

It shows that there is some individuality developed among them, and that they will not become too exclusively pietistic.
Their love of the spelling-book is perfectly inexhaustible,--they stumbling on by themselves, or the blind leading the blind, with the same pathetic patience which they carry into everything.

The chaplain is getting up a schoolhouse, where he will soon teach them as regularly as he can.

But the alphabet must always be a very incidental business in a camp.
December 14.
Passages from prayers in the camp:-- "Let me so lib dat when I die I shall _hab manners_, dat I shall know what to say when I see my Heabenly Lord." "Let me lib wid de musket in one hand an' de Bible in de oder,--dat if I die at de muzzle ob de musket, die in de water, die on de land, I may know I hab de bressed Jesus in my hand, an' hab no fear." "I hab lef my wife in de land o' bondage; my little ones dey say eb'ry night, Whar is my fader?
But when I die, when de bressed mornin' rises, when I shall stan' in de glory, wid one foot on de water an' one foot on de land, den, O Lord, I shall see my wife an' my little chil'en once more." These sentences I noted down, as best I could, beside the glimmering camp-fire last night.

The same person was the hero of a singular little _contre-temps_ at a funeral in the afternoon.