changing horse; not a very good road; several deep ravines to pass, difficult to cross; and a dark night to go over them. Two days certainly he must be absent, even if he escape the shots of the enemy; or, what is almost as much to be dreaded, being taken prisoner. Inside the cabin, everything remains as when I last wrote. Daisy gains strength slowly; walks like one upon stilts, tipping now this way, and now that. I have cut a pile of shirts for the boy; and, as I measure the dimensions, it dawns upon me, that he will not always be "the boy," for the size has much increased since the last were made.
Outside the cabin stands the pretty cow, Jennie, waiting for the ears of corn she knows very well she can coax from me when occasion calls me to the door. Meanwhile, she tugs slily at the bag, hoping to secure a morsel at once. Snuggled close by her is her six-months-old calf, for whom she seems to have more affection than other cows; or perhaps it may be because I never took so much notice of the relation between a cow and calf before. In this unfenced country, the only way to decoy a cow home, is, to tie the calf near the
